


The Life and Times of Sophie Amell

by masulevin



Series: Self-Indulgence AU [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Backstory, Circle of Magi, F/M, Grey Wardens, Happy Endings For Everyone, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, M/M, Miscarriage, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Polyamorous relationship, The Calling, The Taint, Time Skips, Weisshaupt Fortress, fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-10-10 19:43:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10445967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masulevin/pseuds/masulevin
Summary: Sophie Amell was just a very young girl when the entire course of her life changed because she can summon flames at her fingertips. Each time she thinks her life is settling into something resembling normalcy, everything changes once again. She's conscripted into the Grey Wardens, she's sent to Amaranthine, or she loses someone she loves.Usually, she loses the ones she loves every time her life changes.This is the story of unwilling Warden Sophie Amell, told in four parts: The Tower, The Blight, The Wardens, and The Calling.





	1. The Tower

**Author's Note:**

> Sophie has a variety of romances throughout the years, and each chapter contains one of them. Chapter one briefly touches on her relationship with Cullen. Chapter two deals with Alistair. Chapter three involves a polyamorous relationship between her, Anders, and Nathaniel Howe when they're all in Amaranthine together. Chapter four focuses on her and Nathaniel Howe after Anders leaves for Kirkwall in the years between Dragon Age Origins: Awakening and Dragon Age: Inquisition.

Ever since the forest burned, Sophie’s life has never been the same. She didn’t know what she was doing. The trees were large, scary, the howling of wolves too much for her little body to cope. She saw a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness and all she knew to do was throw her hands up to protect herself.

And that’s what started it.

Then the men came and took her away, ripped her from the tree in their yard that she’d hidden in. Her hands were skinned as she gripped the branches to hold herself back, the blood making the men all the more angry.

They did something to her then, something that made her feel sleepy and made her tummy ache. She couldn’t fight anymore. She couldn’t even make fire like she did when the wolves attacked.

Her mother didn’t even look at her as she was carried away. She didn’t see her again.

\---

“Don’t cry, little one.” Sophie looks up at the new voice with wide, watery eyes. It’s a mage, a woman, tall with dark hair pulled into a bun. “My name is Wynne. Are you very hungry?” At Sophie’s nod, Wynne’s smile widens slightly. “Let’s go get you a bath and into your special new robes, and then you can have dinner. Okay?”

Sophie nods and takes Wynne’s outstretched hand, letting the mage lead her through the Circle. Her little eyes barely blink as she’s dragged along, one thumb tucked firmly in her mouth. She doesn’t remember where anything is. This place is so much bigger than her home.

She doesn’t say anything as Wynne helps her take a bath to wash the grime of the road off of her. She stays silent as Wynne helps her into a set of little mage robes, showing her how to fasten them properly so she can get dressed by herself next time.

She only speaks when Wynne settles onto a chair behind her to braid her wet hair, twisting it up into a bun prettier than her mother ever managed at home.

“Wynne?”

“Mmm?” Wynne’s lips are pinched together, holding pins in place to help with Sophie’s hair, so she can only make a quiet noise of acknowledgment. 

“Are you my new mama?”

Wynne freezes at the question, just for a moment, before resuming her work. When her lips are free, she asks, “What makes you ask that, child?”

Sophie rubs her knuckles into her eyes as the tears come again. “Be-because, the man says my mama isn’t my mama no more.” She hesitates, thinking. “And, and he said the Circle is my new home now.”

“Which man said that?” Wynne asks, reaching out to pull Sophie against her chest for a hug. Little arms snake around her waist and hold her tight and Wynne has to swallow hard to keep from crying too. “Do you remember his name?”

Sophie shakes her head in response, burying her face in Wynne’s shoulder.

The two mages sit together until Sophie’s tears run dry.

\---

“Hi! I’m Jowan!” Sophie squints at the gangly boy across from her, sizing him up. He grins at her, showing off two missing front teeth. She doesn’t respond, but Jowan doesn’t seem to mind. “This is Lys,” he continues, pointing with his thumb to a girl who sits beside Sophie. “She doesn’t like to talk either.”

Sophie turns to Lys, already frowning, but Lys just has the end of one red pigtail tucked into her mouth. She looks back at Jowan.

“I’m Sophie,” she says, voice a hoarse whisper. 

Jowan’s whole face lights up at her response. “What kind of magic do  _ you  _ have?” he demands. He glances around, looking to see how close attention the templars are paying to them and decides casting a spell isn’t worth it. “I can make snow.”

“I burned down my forest,” Sophie replies, face hardening, daring Jowan to say something about it.

He just pouts a little. “That’s cooler than snow,” he grouses. “Snow just comes from the sky in the winter. Fire  _ never  _ comes from the sky.”

\---

“New templars are arriving today.”

Sophie glances up at Jowan over the top of her book, but otherwise doesn’t move. The Circle’s talked about nothing  _ but  _ the new templars for weeks, ever since Greagoir announced it. 

Who would they be receiving? Would they be kind or cruel? Would they be losing any templars to make room for the newly ordained knights? Maybe Fitzpatrick will leave, he’s been getting more and more confused lately… 

She sighs and turns her attention back to the words on the page. A terribly boring treatise on elfroot’s lesser known applications in healing, only interesting enough to be preferable to talk of templars, but Jowan won’t be discouraged.

“Don’t you want to be there when they come in?” he demands, reaching across the table to pull the book from her hands. He snaps it closed, losing her place, and she scowls at him even as she slumps farther down in the chair. She props her elbow on the arm of the chair and rests her cheek on her hand. “It would be good for them, to see  _ all  _ the mages in the tower right when they arrive.”

This sentiment makes Sophie uneasy, and she sits up straight to look around the room for any of the regular templars. They seem to be alone, for now, and she relaxes back into her slouch.

“Don’t say things like that,” she hisses, shooting Jowan a dark look. “You know better. You know what happened to Anders.”

Jowan just shrugs, completely unconcerned. Anders has escaped the tower every few years ever since they can remember. On his last attempt, he arrived back with a bruised and bloodied face and quickly disappeared into the lower levels of the Circle.

Solitary confinement, the templars said. They haven’t seen him since, and it’s been  _ months. _

“I’m not talking about  _ escaping, _ ” he points out, not unreasonably, but he still lowers his voice to make her feel better. “Just about scaring them a little. Come with me? Please?” His face melts into a mimicry of the face he made when they were little mages, the one that always got her to agree to anything he said.

She rolls her eyes, staring at the ceiling dramatically to be sure he knows he’s putting her out, but stands and allows him to pull her along behind him.

They make their way from the library through the apprentice quarters towards the great doors, the ones Sophie’s never seen closed, and melt into the waiting crowd.

The templars already on duty look antsy with so many mages gathered in one place, but with Greagoir and Irving both there too, they can’t tell the mages to disperse.

And so they wait, watching as the tower’s main doors open and four new Knights-Templar walk in. They all have their helmets on, still, blocking their faces from view, but the mages immediately begin murmuring to each other, making guesses about their new guardians.

Irving and Greagoir step up to greet them, shaking their hands and making introductions. The first of the templars removes his helmet and smoothes a gauntleted hand over his flattened curls. His eyes drift over the gathered mages, stopping when they reach Sophie’s.

She pulls her lower lip into her mouth and rests her hand against the wall beside her. The cold stone against her skin grounds her as she stares directly into his eyes, such a light shade of brown that they look gold. Her body warms and Jowan leans forward to whisper something in her ear but she can’t hear him.

The templar smiles at her, just a little thing, but she sees the way his cheeks turn pink as he rips his eyes away from her to turn back to the Knight-Commander.

This… isn’t good.

\---

The new templar’s name is Cullen. Sometimes he’s stationed in the halls, walking to make sure mages aren’t hiding where they aren’t supposed to be. Sometimes he’s stationed in the library, standing with his back against the wall, eyes always roaming across his charges.

When he isn’t working, he’s supposed to be with the other templars. They have a floor all to themselves, with their beds and their own small chantry and a training room. Sometimes he stays upstairs, and Sophie misses seeing him. Sometimes he breaks--not the rules, exactly, but certainly  _ tradition _ \--and sits in the library himself. 

He reads, usually something about history, never anything about magic, or he plays chess with another templar or the occasional brave mage. Greagoir frowns at this, and more than once Sophie skirts by them talking in hushed tones as Greagoir urges Cullen not to become overly familiar with his mage charges.

“If one becomes an abomination, you must strike them down,” Greagoir points out. “You don’t need to hesitate because you’ve gone and made friends.”

It doesn’t stop Cullen, though. And it doesn’t keep his eyes from lingering on Sophie whenever she’s near him, walking down the hall or sitting in his section of the library.

She always makes sure to sit in his section of the library.

When she catches him watching her, which she always manages to do, she just grins back at him. Sometimes when he looks over at her, she’s already staring at him with blue eyes wide. Those times she blushes and turns away, just like he does when it’s his turn to be caught.

He thinks about her. He knows he shouldn’t, but he does. Even when he’s not supposed to be watching her, ensuring that she isn’t in danger of becoming a blood mage or an abomination or planning acts of sedition, he can’t help but think of her.

He wonders what she might say if he spoke to her. What she would do if she knew the way his thoughts drift when he has a few blessed moments of peace. What she thinks when she looks up at him and her cheeks start to darken.

This… desire, this obsession, is unholy. It is unworthy of a templar. It goes against the vows he made, to the Maker and to himself, when he joined the Order.

If she knows, she doesn’t care.

\---

It begins during a chess game. They play occasionally, only speaking to discuss the rules and strategy. Cullen has been playing his whole life, Sophie only for the last few months. Ever since he came to the tower.

They don’t play often enough to raise the suspicions of anyone else. Usually Cullen will stay in his chair and play several games with different mages and templars as they have time for him.

Today, Sophie has a plan. She settles into the chair opposite him and arranges her robes so that they hang smoothly around her feet. She offers him one of her heart-stopping smiles as she starts to reset the board for him, small fingers deftly moving the pieces back to their starting positions.

They play in silence for a long while, each making careful consideration before moving a piece.

A templar guard stands nearby in his usual spot, where Cullen sometimes stands, but he’s ignoring them. Sophie hazards a glance in his direction, confirming her suspicions, before shifting in her seat to reach out one leg under the table.

Her foot brushes against Cullen’s, and he jumps, jerking his foot back. His eyes flick up to hers as a blush grows on his cheeks, but he quickly schools his expression to gaze back down at the chessboard. 

Sophie waits until after Cullen’s move to try again, shifting until her toes just press into his. He flinches again but doesn’t pull away this time, so she leaves her foot where it is.

After a long moment, she looks up from moving her knight and meets Cullen’s gaze. There’s a high spot of color on each of his cheeks, but when she slides her foot a little closer to him, he still doesn’t pull away.

A little smirk twists her lips as it takes him too long to decide his next move, distracted as he is by her attentions.

When she traps him in checkmate a few moves later, she grows bolder and reaches across the table to lightly tap the back of his hand with her fingertips. His eyes are impossibly wide as he glances toward the templar on duty, but he doesn’t pull away as her fingers slide across his.

“Don’t let me win next time, Ser,” she says, pulling away from him with a grin. When she stands, another mage is ready to take her place, eager to win his dignity back from the templar.

That mage wins, too.

\---

“Shh!”

Sophie’s giggles sound loud in the empty library, and Cullen’s hand covers her mouth even as his forehead rests against hers. She wraps her arms around his neck and presses her body against his, blinking owlishly at him until he moves his hand from her mouth to her waist.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and closes the final distance between them to brush her lips across his in silent apology. “I’m glad you could get away. It’s been forever.”

His chuckle is quiet, more a huff of air across her cheek. “I saw you this morning.”

Their noses bump together as she pulls away to frown up at him. “Cullen, don’t be like that. Kiss me please, while we have time.”

He rubs their noses together on purpose again even as his lips curve into a smile. “As you wish.”

He runs his hands from her back over the curve of her hips down to her thighs as he bends down to press their lips together. She sighs against him, immediately opening her mouth to his questing tongue as he lifts her into his arms and takes the final step necessary to press her against the bookshelf.

It’s rare that they’re able to be together when he’s not in his armor. Until now, their kisses have been quick, hesitant things grabbed when they’ve accidentally found themselves alone. Desperation and desire have driven them here, despite the danger. He could be transferred to another Circle or even expelled from the Order, and she could be put in solitary confinement or be made tranquil if they’re discovered.

It doesn’t matter to them, in this moment. Neither of them can think beyond the feel of their bodies pressed together, of her legs around his waist and his strong arms supporting her.

His hot kisses trail down her throat and she shudders, biting her lip hard to keep from making any noises that might alert a templar to their location or activities. This is all they’ve been dreaming about for weeks ever since she made the first move during their chess game. It’s been keeping them warm during lonely nights alone in their beds when they’d rather be anywhere else as long as they can be together.

He ruts against her instinctively, his body chasing the pleasure that his mind still wants to deny him. He muffles a moan against her neck as he stills himself, breath bursting from his lungs in sharp gasps. 

Sophie runs her fingers into his curls, tugging on them slightly, and he pulls away just enough to meet her eyes. She’s smiling, lips damp and parted, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from closing the distance between them and drowning himself in her kisses.

“Please don’t hold back,” she murmurs, rolling her hips against him and grinning as his eyes flit closed. “I don’t know when we’ll get this chance again.”

Cullen clenches his jaw to come back to himself. He rests his forehead against Sophie’s and takes a deep breath before saying, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to. Since I’m… and you’re…” His next sigh sounds more like a grunt, and Sophie’s hand strokes over his cheek, skin rasping over the beard starting to grow in.

“I know,” she murmurs. “I know. I want to. You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking of this, of you having me against these shelves, or on the table where we play chess, or over a pew in the chantry.” She squirms in his grip, watching the way he squeezes his eyes closed at her words, the way his nostrils flare at her movements. “We can go back to our rooms if you’d rather,” she adds, running a soothing hand over his cheek.

His eyes pop open, and he heaves a ragged breath. She barely has time to realize her words have made up his mind before he’s adjusting the way he holds her so that one of his hands is pushing her robes out of the way so that he can grab for her smalls. They rip in his hurry and fall to the floor, forgotten as his hand moves to the waist of his trousers.

There is no making love in the Circle. Mages and templars alike take what quiet moments they can find to come together, joining until both parties are satisfied. There’s a constant threat of being found; any sound too loud or a post abandoned for too long draws suspicion, and those who live in the tower learn to take their pleasure quickly.

The sounds of their quiet grunts echo dully in the empty library alcove as they move together. Sweat gathers, kisses are pressed to every inch of exposed skin that can be reached, and when her robe slips off of her shoulder Cullen takes the opportunity to suck a dark mark on Sophie’s pale skin under her collarbone.

When she comes, it’s silently. Her whole body tenses around Cullen’s, her nails scratching him, her breath stopping in her throat as pleasure washes over her. Cullen follows her over the edge immediately, burying his face in the crook of her neck to hide his gasp.

He leans with his whole weight against her, pressing against the bookshelf that she’s thankful is resting in turn against the tower wall, as he recovers. He sets her down, gently, reverently running his hands over her cheeks and shoulders, fingers pressing against the love bite as he straightens her collar.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, ducking down to kiss the top of her head even as she shakes it.

She grabs his face in her hands and guides his lips back to hers. “It was perfect.”

His smile is radiant, and she shivers before it.

“Go to your rooms,” he says, voice softer than she’s ever heard it. “I’ll wait until you’re safe and then I’ll go back upstairs.”

She nods and stretches up to kiss him again. 

This is perfect.

_ \--- _

Of everything she expected to happen after she finally passed her Harrowing, waking up to a panicking Jowan  _ wasn’t  _ on the list. Even when she was allowing herself to be fanciful, she pictured waking up with Cullen nearby, ready to praise her on a job well done.

The fact that he was  _ in  _ her Harrowing chamber was unsettling, but not particularly abnormal.

Jowan’s incessant bleating isn’t abnormal either. Just infuriating.

He follows her through the tower as she checks in with the other mages, listening to their congratulations and trying not to worry that they  _ all  _ seem to know Cullen has feelings for her.

Is this some sort of joke? Are all the mages in on it? If this gets back to Greagoir, Cullen is going to be in a  _ lot  _ of trouble.

She finds him after receiving her Enchanter robes and staff from Greagoir and stops to speak to him with her robes clutched to her chest.

“Do you think they know about us?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper. Cullen’s eyes aren’t on her; they continue scanning the hall as though looking for threats. If he doesn’t look at her, he’s less likely to blush and draw attention to themselves.

He shakes his head and shrugs slightly. “Don’t know. They chose me to be the one to deliver the final blow last night. If you… if you failed.” His cheeks color anyway at the admission, so he gives in and looks at her. His eyes follow the curve of her lips, drinking in the details of her face. “I’m glad you survived.”

She licks her lips slowly, deliberately, watching the way his gaze zeroes in on the action. “I’m glad too. Will you be able to get away tonight?”

He nods, and she smiles up at him. A moment of silence passes, heavy as she’s forced to stay an appropriate distance away, and she turns to leave him alone.

A hand closes on her elbow as she does, and she turns back with wide eyes to see Cullen pulling her back to him. He presses a kiss, fast and hard, to her mouth before he releases her, and she takes a large, wobbly step away from him. A blush covers her face and creeps up to her ears and down her neck as she looks around them to see if they’ve been caught.

They are alone.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out, his own blush matching hers. “I couldn’t--I’m sorry. I could hardly bear watching you go through your Harrowing. I just kept thinking ‘What if she doesn’t wake up,’ and I…” Sophie takes a step closer to him, a soft shushing noise already building between her lips, but Cullen falls silent and shakes himself. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, holding it deep in his lungs for a moment before letting it out again. “I can’t let you go again without saying that I love you.”

The tower spins around Sophie as his words sink in. She blinks at him, several times, watching as his expression goes from determined to embarrassed to horrified, before she manages to say anything back to him.

“Oh, Cullen. I love you, too.”

His smile is huge and instantaneous, and when Sophie sees it, she mirrors his expression before turning away. She ducks her shoulders and pulls her new robes up to her face, scurrying down the hall to find her new room, the one Irving assigned to her.

Jowan meets her there. He wants her help.

\---

“...your antics have made a mockery of this Circle! What are we to do with you?”

Sophie’s stomach clenches at Greagoir’s words, yelled almost directly into her face. She casts a wide-eyed look at Irving, desperate for his help. This was his idea, after all. She didn’t know that Jowan was a blood mage  _ or  _ that he would be able to escape the circle. She shouldn’t be held responsible!

“As I said,” Irving sighs, taking a step closer to Sophie and Greagoir, “she was working under my orders.”

Sophie’s gaze turns from the men in front of her to Cullen, standing behind Greagoir. His face is pale and a sheen of sweat stands out on his skin. He looks like he might faint or be sick, and when their eyes meet his lips twist into a grimace.

He needs to understand  _ this wasn’t her plan.  _ Irving bade her to do it, and she was just obeying. She would never turn to blood magic or willingly create an apostate.

Irving and Greagoir continue to argue. For the second time today, the Circle swirls under Sophie’s feet, and she’s afraid she really will be sick. She wraps her arms around her stomach and looks from one man to the other. What if they make her tranquil for this, afraid she’s a blood mage or Jowan’s thrall? What if they send her to Aeonar for breaking into the repository?

“Knight-Commander, if I may…” Sophie flinches away from the new voice even as she recognizes it as Duncan’s. He comes into the room at a jog, hurrying to join the conversation. Apprentices stick their heads through the closest door, completely enthralled by the conversation but terrified of drawing Greagoir’s ire on themselves. “I am not only looking for mages to join the king's army. I am also looking to recruit for the Grey Wardens. Irving spoke highly of this mage, and I would like her to join the Warden ranks.”

Sophie swallows hard at the bile rising in her throat. Her? A Warden? 

It’s preferable to being made tranquil or sent away, but she doesn’t want to leave the Tower. It’s her home. She’s finally found happiness here, with Cullen. She meets his gaze again as Greagoir turns to argue with Duncan, and she would swear she sees tears in his eyes before he turns away.

Finally, Irving turns to Sophie with a soft smile. She tries to return the expression, but her face won’t obey her orders. She bites her lower lip to keep it from trembling as he says, “You have an opportunity few even dream of. Do not squander it.”

“I am to be a Grey Warden?” Her voice shakes and she widens her eyes to keep the tears from escaping. 

Irving reaches forward and rests his hand on her shoulder, just like he’s done countless times over the years. He squeezes softy, an unspoken  _ be strong  _ as he says aloud, “Yes. Be proud, child. You are luckier than you know.”

Her mouth opens in soundless protest, but he pushes her toward Duncan, away from the still-furious Greagoir. She tries to watch Cullen for as long as she can, but he’s already turned away from her.

Duncan takes the hint, wrapping his hand around Sophie’s arm. He guides her toward the front of the tower, toward the great doors where she first saw Cullen all those months ago. “Come. Your new life awaits.”

She finds her words. “My things!” she cries. “My things are still in my chest in my old room.”

“I will fetch them for you.” This from Irving, his voice already disappearing down the hall toward the apprentice quarters. “You mustn’t delay.”

She doesn’t see Cullen again before she leaves the Circle.


	2. The Blight

Sophie pokes at the campfire with a deep scowl on her face. Morrigan, the apostate who  _ clearly  _ does not want to travel with them, sits several yards away by her own fire. Alistair, the Warden who follows Sophie around like a lost puppy, is already reclined on his bedroll with his eyes hidden in the crook of his elbow.

Aoife, the  _ actual  _ lost puppy following Sophie around, sits at attention by her side. Her ears are perked up, taking her turn on guard duty to allow her humans time to relax. Sophie mentioned it once in passing, as a joke, but Aoife takes her job seriously. Each little noise that comes from the forest makes Aoife’s ears perk up and her head swivels to investigate, but she only barks when it’s bandits or darkspawn.

It’s pretty amazing, actually.

A quiet  _ sniff _ comes from Alistair’s direction, and Aoife’s head swivels to look at him. After a moment she looks up at Sophie with a clear question in her eyes. Sophie narrows her eyes, but nods, and Aoife immediately bounds around the fire to snuffle at Alistair’s face.

He jumps, flinching away from the hound, and when he sits up Sophie sees tears glistening on his face. She turns away from him just as he buries his face against Aoife’s side, large hands scratching through her fur.

Sophie sighs and rubs her fingers over her face. This is going to be a long walk to Lothering.

\---

Jowan is in Redcliffe Castle’s dungeon.

JOWAN is in Redcliffe.

He glares at Sophie when he recognizes her and refuses to help them clear the rest of the castle of corpses, claiming that he’s safer in the cell than out of it. 

Alistair wants to know the story. She knows he does, but she doesn't tell him. She's still angry.

If he hadn't turned to blood magic, if he hadn't turned to her for help, she'd still be in the Circle.

She'd still be with Cullen, and she would be  _ happy. _

She takes out her anger on each reanimated corpse that climbs out of the ground to fight them, sending bursts of flames at them that knock them shrieking to the ground. Aoife bites at their ankles, knocking them down so that Leliana can pin them to the ground with her arrows.

Each corpse that falls makes Sophie feel just a little better. Even the arcane horror, something she's only ever read about, makes her feel stronger. 

That feeling disappears when they find Connor.

\---

“This is the only way!”

Sophie props her hands on her hips as she glares at Jowan. He's so sure of himself, despite everything he did before she arrived. This is all his fault. 

Everything is Jowan’s fault. 

“I'm not killing Connor  _ or  _ Isolde,” Sophie snaps. Alistair and Leliana breathe audible sighs of relief behind her, and Aoife chuffs approvingly. Sophie places her hand on the mabari’s head and ruffles her fur. “It's the fastest way, but it isn't the only one. I'm certain some of the senior enchanters will know a way to enter the Fade  _ without  _ killing anyone.”

Teagan nods and rubs his chin with one hand. “The Circle is only a day’s boat ride away. You could be there and back in two, three days at most.”

“Every day you're gone is another day innocent people in the village die at the hands of the corpses,” Jowan points out. 

Sophie turns her glare to him, and he takes an involuntary step back. “Who’s fault is that now, Jowan?” 

Leliana steps forward and places a soothing hand on Sophie’s arm. “The guards in the castle can help the villagers burn the rest of the bodies. Then there will be no more corpses to fight.”

Teagan nods again. “Yes. Now that we know what's been happening here…” he glances at Isolde but quickly turns back to Sophie. “If there's a possibility we can save Isolde  _ and  _ Connor, I suggest we take it.”

Sophie turns to look at Alistair and Leliana. They both give her encouraging smiles, so she turns back to Teagan. “You can provide us with a boat?”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

“Okay then. Morrigan and Sten are both still in the village, helping the refugees. Tell them where we’ve gone.” She pats Aoife on the head. “Let's go, girl.”

\---

The Circle is being Annulled. Greagoir doesn't care, he doesn't even blink when he realizes she's returned to the tower. His face doesn't change as he explains that the Circle fell to blood mages and abominations, and he closed the great doors to keep them in and the escaped templars safe. 

Irving is still inside. 

So is Cullen. 

Sophie doesn't blink either as she volunteers to rid the Circle of abominations for him. She hears the creak of Alistair’s armor as he shifts on his feet behind her, but she pushes forward and demands entrance. She won't be dissuaded. 

When Greagoir gives in, it's with a barely disguised sigh. He's tired, so tired, and he can't bring himself to care whether or not this mage, the mage he didn't even want to leave the tower in the first place, reenters the tower and kills the abomination or dies. 

He lets them through the doors, and she stalks through with her head held high.

\---

It's easy to lose track of time in the Circle. Everything looks the same from one moment to the next, and the exhaustion that comes from battling an endless stream of demons and blood mages and abominations makes that problem worse. 

Sophie can barely remember the little boy named Connor who needs her help, the little mage whose parents loved him enough to protect him from the templars. A desire demon is controlling him, and he's scared. He needs her. 

She almost gives up when she finds a dragon on one of the upper floors. It's too ridiculous, too dangerous, and it catches her robes on fire. It doesn't burn her, fire has never hurt her even before her magic showed, but it fuels her anger until she beats the next abomination she finds with her staff until it's just a bloody mess at her feet. 

Alistair puts his hand on her back, a soothing weight even through the layers of fabric, as she fights to catch her breath. She drops her staff and leans forward to rest her hands on her knees, teeth grinding together as she holds back the tears that are suddenly clawing at her eyes. 

Wynne approaches the pair, leaning heavily against Leliana, and accepts a health potion from the rogue. She's frowning down at Sophie but doesn't speak, years of dealing with young mages telling her Sophie just needs a moment. 

Alistair looks completely lost, his lips parted as he looks from Leliana to Wynne. Only Aoife seems to know what to do, and she trots right up to Sophie and nuzzles against the skin of her now-bare leg. 

When she's recovered, she marches forward, determined again, anger simmering. 

When the sloth demon pulls her into its dream, she burns through the Fade to retrieve her companions. Niall tells her about the Litany, and she leaves promising that she'll avenge his death. 

And she does, slaying the sloth demon and setting its body aflame without a thought.

The templar barracks are empty save for some enthralled templars and abominations. They run through quickly, searching for Irving but heading for the Harrowing chamber. 

When they finally push through the last door, Sophie freezes mid-step at the sight before her. 

It's a static cage. She's heard of them, read about them before in her studies, but she's never seen one actually holding anything. 

And this one holds Cullen. 

He falls to his knees when he sees her, sobbing, voice pleading with the demon to release him from its torture. 

All the tears she's been holding back at seeing her home torn to shreds fall at once when she sees Cullen, her Cullen, being ripped apart in front of her. 

_ My ill-advised infatuation with her, a mage of all things.  _

_ My deepest desire.  _

“You're still here.” His voice is quiet, wavering, and he stays on his knees before Sophie. She’s collapsed on the floor in front of him, as close as she can get without touching the magic trapping him. “But that always worked before.”

Behind her, Wynne sighs and clucks her tongue. “The poor boy is exhausted.” 

Cullen glances up at Wynne then looks back down at Sophie, confusion written all over his face. Wynne is right--he looks exhausted, blood and sweat drying on his face, deep shadows under his eyes, his hands shaking.

Sophie’s heart aches.

“We’ll get you out of here, Cullen,” she promises. “Where is Uldred?”

When Cullen begs Sophie to kill all the remaining mages to avoid sparing a maleficar, her sadness is overwhelmed by anger. How dare he demand this of her?

How dare he?

“He doesn't know what he's saying,” Wynne soothes, her feathers unruffled by Cullen’s hateful words. “He's been held here for days. You wouldn't be faring much better.”

Sophie pulls herself to her feet and turns on Wynne, not seeing the way Cullen stands too and pulls a handkerchief out of his sleeve, a little scrap of fabric with an embroidered  _ SA _ , to wipe his face.

“I certainly wouldn't ask you to murder innocents,” she says, glaring up at Wynne. “I wouldn't call for annulling the Circle. Templars,” she spits, turning back to Cullen, “don't know how to trust.”

She leaves him and doesn't look back, hands trembling too and more tears ready to fall. 

Uldred transforms into a pride demon. Sophie isn't surprised; she's just tired of fighting. She doesn't even know how long she's been in the Circle this time. 

Has it been weeks? Days? Hours?

Leliana recites the Litany and saves the mages still alive from becoming abominations. Irving is still alive, huddled with a few mages and an apprentice Sophie recognizes. She embraces them all, even Irving, and they all begin climbing down the tower’s many steps.

Cullen’s already gone when they get down the first flight. He's waiting for them outside of the great doors, head hanging low between his shoulders. He doesn't look at the rescued mages as they wait for Greagoir to let them out.

As Sophie explains to Greagoir what happened in the tower, the little apprentice tends to their wounds. Her face is smeared with dust and tears, and her hands shake, but she heals Sophie’s companions without complaint.

Aoife trots over to be petted, and Alistair passes the mage a mabari crunch. “What's your name?” he asks. 

She looks at him with wide eyes as Aoife licks her fingers to make sure there aren't any crumbs left behind. “Rose.”

“I'm Alistair.” He summons up a crooked smile, and she grins back as her cheeks heat. “Thanks for healing me. Are you alright?”

She shrugs at his question, but before she can answer, Cullen’s voice becomes too loud to ignore.

Alistair hoists himself to his feet and crosses over to stand by Sophie. He puts his hand on the small of her back and she leans into his touch, turning away from Cullen. She won't look at him, even when he spies Rose in the corner and starts yelling at her instead. 

Irving agrees to send mages to support the Wardens when it's time, even As Greagoir drags Cullen away from the group. Sophie glances over her shoulder to see a sobbing Rose clutching the blonde mage’s robes for dear life. What  _ is _ her name?

They leave the Circle in better shape than they found it, but not by much. Irving promises to follow the next day; he needs time to sleep and gather lyrium potions before he can help fight yet another demon.

_ \--- _

“I wanted to thank you,” Alistair murmurs, sitting down next to her by the fire. “For saving Connor. I know doing what we had to do… going back to the Circle wasn't easy for you.”

Sophie is well into her cups, and she just grins sloppily at Alistair in return. “Well. I'm just glad we didn't put it off any longer. We would have lost everybody!” She makes a wide gesture with her hands and spills some ale over the side of her mug, and she glares at her hand like it personally offended her.

“Yes, well…” Alistair trails off and narrows his eyes at her, judging how sober she is. “You and that Templar… the one at the top of the tower.”

Sophie’s eyes focus on him with enough speed that he leans back a little, suddenly afraid. “Cullen,” she supplies, then waits for the rest of his question.

“Were you two, um…” Alistair’s blush, the cute one where he starts stammering, covers his face and Sophie leans toward him. 

“Were we what?” She puts her hand on his knee and leans in, the smile back. Drunken Sophie looks at Alistair more closely than sober Sophie ever has, noticing how big he looks, tall and wide, strong enough to wield a sword and shield and stand up to the darkspawn that come for her. She licks her lips and tastes the ale she’s been drinking. She slides her hand farther up Alistair’s thigh, just a hair, but he jumps anyway.

“Were you, uh,” he stammers again, glancing down at her hand then up at her face. He scans the campsite around him and sees Aoife watching them closely. When he sends the mabari a wide-eyed look, she stretches slowly before padding over to sit beside Sophie. The mage moves her hand from Alistair’s leg to grab the scruff at the back of Aoife’s neck instead, and Alistair visibly relaxes.

Aoife sends him an amused look that has him blushing all over again.

“You know,” he presses on, drawing Sophie’s gaze back to him even if her touch stays away. “Were you two  _ together.  _ In the tower.”

She scoffs and kisses Aoife’s ear, avoiding Alistair’s eyes. “Of course not. Mages and templars. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh.” Alistair frowns at her, but accepts her explanation.

She rests her head against Aoife’s side and smiles, looking back up at him. “Were you  _ jealous _ ?”

Alistair’s mouth drops open, either in shock or to reply, but Aoife’s little  _ borf  _ cuts him off. Sophie giggles and flips the mabari’s ear inside out and then back again.

“She thinks you were.” Sophie and Aoife both turn to look at Alistair, nearly identical amused expressions on their faces. 

Alistair shifts uncomfortably and moves to stand, putting distance between himself and Sophie’s laughter. When she sees him pulling away, she follows immediately, rising up on her knees to put her hands on his shoulders. He freezes again and waits as she levels him with the most serious stare she can manage.

“Wait, don’t leave me.”

At her words, Alistair melts back into a sitting position, and Sophie scoots to sit next to him. She leans her head against his shoulder, and he slowly puts his arm around her, supporting her back. Aoife tilts her head to the side, studying the pair, then gives an approving huff and lays down to rest her head on her paws.

“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have asked.” Alistair rests his cheek against the top of her head and resists the impulse to kiss her there.

“No, no.” Sophie pat his knee. “I shouldn’t have--shouldn’t have teased.” her words slur, but she still sounds alert as she nuzzles against Alistair’s side. “You’re too sweet, I think.”

Alistair clears his throat, the blush already coming back at her words. He looks away just in time to see Leliana climbing out of her tent, her eyebrows raised at the position of the Wardens. He widens his eyes in an expression of both  _ I’m innocent  _ and  _ I don’t know what’s happening help,  _ but the bard just giggles and wanders off with her water skins.

“You’re blushing now, aren’t you?” Alistair’s heavy sigh is enough of an answer for her, and she has to suppress another giggle. She sits up, slightly, just enough to turn and look up at him. “See? You are sweet.” She pauses, tilting her head to the side, and he watches as her eyes roam openly over his face. “I want to kiss you. Is that okay?”

He stares blankly at her for a heartbeat, face turning all sorts of shades of red and white, before he finally finds his words: “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh.” Her mouth twists into a little pout, but she shrugs. “Okay.” She puts her head back on his shoulder and lets her eyes drift closed. Alistair meets Aoife’s eyes and frowns at the mabari’s expression of approval. 

When Leliana comes back from the nearby stream with water to drink, Sophie is asleep still curled against Alistair’s side. She stands across the campfire from them and props her hands on her hips. She smiles, a grin that makes Alistair’s blush start up again, and asks, “Having fun?”

She glances meaningfully at Sophie’s reclining form, earning herself an eye roll. Aoife raises her head and stares back at Leliana, telling her to  _ go away.  _ Leliana’s smile slips off of her face and she obeys, leaving Alistair and the sleeping Sophie alone.

\---

“I have something for you.” Sophie looks up from where she’s bent over her bedroll, smoothing out the blankets by the fire. It’s too hot to sleep in a tent, so she and Alistair have taken to sleeping under the stars. Aoife loves it; she settles between their bedrolls and takes turns keeping watch with them.

Alistair has one hand behind his back, and he grins a little lopsidedly at her. She glances around the camp, but they’re alone for now, or as alone as they can be. She nods up at him and sits back, stretching her legs out toward the fire, and waits as he pulls a single rose out from behind his back and holds it out to her.

She takes it automatically, fingers automatically avoiding the thorns that dance up its stem. “A rose?”

He takes a deep breath before starting to explain: “I picked this in Lothering. I remember thinking, how could something so beautiful exist somewhere with so much despair and ugliness? I thought that I might…” he stops and takes another breath, face warming as he forces out the rest of the words in a rush: “give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, that's what I think when I look at you.”

Sophie’s eyes narrow as she listens to him, her cheeks taking on a pinkish hue under her freckles, and she buries her nose in the rose’s petals. She breathes deeply, inhaling its delicate scent. When she looks up again Alistair is still staring at her, a little grin on his face. She finds herself returning the expression without considering  _ why. _

“That’s very lovely, Alistair,” she finally says. “Thank you.”

His face transforms into a heart-stopping grin and  _ oh _ . Sophie suddenly remembers the impulse she had to kiss him when they left Redcliffe, and she wonders if he’s changed his mind about whether it’s a good idea.

Apparently he has, because he watches her lick her lips before leaning forward, reaching for her hand at the same time. She lets him pull her forward, scooting until she’s at the edge of her bedroll and his chapped lips are pressing against hers.

It’s hesitant, gentle, exactly how she imagined he would kiss, and she leans into it. She puts the rose down behind her so it will be safe and puts her free hand on the back of his neck to hold him closer.

It’s an awkward way to kiss, sitting across from each other like they are, but she smiles against his lips and holds his hair just a little tighter, encouraging him to stay.

He breaks their kiss after a moment but doesn’t pull all the way away, hovering over her with her hand still in his hair. “Was that… was that okay?”

She blinks up at him and pulls her hand free. He sits back down, just a little closer than he had been before, and waits for her answer. His expectant look is so much like Aoife’s when she’s waiting for a bone that it’s a struggle not to laugh.

“Alistair.” She tilts her head to the side and allows him a smile. “You may do that whenever you like.”

That wide grin is back, and Sophie’s heart constricts in her chest. Cullen used to look at her like that. Before.

“Well…” he draws out the word the way he does sometimes to make her laugh, and she rewards him with a breathy chuckle. “I’ll certainly keep  _ that  _ in mind.”

\---

They’re nearly to the Frostbacks on their search for Brother Genitivi when Alistair approaches Sophie to help her put up her tent. She smiles at him, a silent thanks, then steps into his arms when her tent is secured. He wraps his cloak around her, trapping her in his warmth, and she sighs against him.

“Aoife wants to know if you’ll sleep in our tent with us.” Sophie speaks directly into Alistair’s chest, muffling her words, but he freezes and Aoife sneezes her disagreement from the other side of the fire. They both ignore her. “We don’t have to… I’m not asking you to do anything other than sleep,” she explains, tilting her head up so that her chin is resting on his sternum. “You’re just  _ so warm. _ ”

Alistair doesn’t answer at first, rubbing his hand idly over her back instead. “I didn’t think you got cold. Your skin feels like fire all the time.”

Sophie grins and arches up on her tiptoes, encouraging him to lean down and kiss her, and he obeys. He’s right, too--her face is hot against his, warming his skin wherever they touch. As her hands snake around his waist and tuck under his shirt to rest flat against his back, he decides sleeping in her tent wouldn’t be the  _ worst  _ thing he could do.

So he does, despite the embarrassment he feels from not bothering setting up his tent. Leliana, Zevran, and Wynne are all shooting him knowing looks, and even Aoife looks especially smug when she sits down next to Sophie for her evening meal.

When they retire, finally, it’s to a few lewd suggestions from Leliana and an offer of guidance from Zevran. While Alistair’s face burns, Sophie just smiles and gives them a rude gesture before tying the tent flap closed.

Secure in their tents, she meets Alistair’s eyes. His face is hot and he can’t seem to meet her gaze. She settles on her bedroll next to his and takes his hand. She squeezes his fingers gently, pulling his attention to her face. He smiles and she leans in to kiss his cheek before turning away to undress.

She strips out of her light armor and piles it on the ground next to her, leaving her in just a long sleeved tunic and leggings. She glances at Alistair to make sure he’s okay--he still looks mottled and blotchy but he’s taking his armor off too--and she lays down on her side before pulling her blanket up to her shoulders.

When Alistair is just in his trousers he stretches out on his back next to her, pulling his blanket up over his bare chest. He’s on his back, not close enough to touch, and she sighs lightly to get his attention.

“You’re not going to keep me warm from over there,” she points out. He hesitates, still, and she rolls over to look at him. He’s staring up at the roof of the tent with his hands tucked behind his head. He doesn’t move when she turns, so she stretches out a hand and places it against his side. “Alistair, if you’re uncomfortable--”

He turns, finally, and meets her gaze. “That’s not it.” His voice is a whisper, mindful of the camp full of people just outside their thin canvas walls. He rolls onto his side, one arm still under his head, and tucks the other against his chest. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

A moment passes before Sophie realizes what he’s saying, but she just smiles at him. “Oh, Alistair.” She reaches over to put her hand on his cheek, her thumb rubbing gently across his cheekbone. “I bet you’re a natural.” His face colors under her touch, and she continues, “I’m just asking you to keep me warm, though, is that okay?”

When Alistair nods at her, she rolls onto her other side and backs against him. He arranges their blankets so that their bodies are both covered, then drapes his arm across her stomach and pulls her flush against him. She sighs in contentment and wiggles closer to him, ignoring the little shudder that runs through his body at the contact.

That can come later.

\---

They make it nearly all the way back to Redcliffe with Andraste’s ashes--or what are supposed to be Andraste’s ashes--before Alistair’s careful control finally starts to break. He sets up her tent as always, used to Zevran’s gentle ribbing by now, tells a perpetually unimpressed Aoife to watch out for darkspawn, and disappeared into the tenuous privacy afforded by the thin canvas with Sophie.

Their nighttime routine is always the same: unless one of them has a shift watching for darkspawn, they climb into the tent early, take off their armor and weapons, cuddle up under the blankets, and sleep for as long as they can before darkspawn dreams disturb them.

Tonight, instead of falling right to sleep, Alistair dips his hand under the hem of her shirt to rest against her stomach and pulls her flat against him. He nuzzles into the hair at the base of her neck, sending a shiver through her body. She immediately warms under his attentions, heat pooling in her core, and squirms back against him.

This encourages a little moan out of him, so she does it again.  His hand slips a little higher under her shirt, and she shivers all over.

Alistair laughs, a little huff of air against her neck, and she puts her hand on his arm to encourage him to move it higher. When he obeys and finally cups one of her breasts, she sighs in contentment as his hips move against her backside.

“Am I--” Alistair stops, body freezing in place, and starts again. “Is this okay?”

Sophie’s sigh comes out as a quiet hum. “Yes, Alistair. You may do whatever you’d like to me. I wish you would.” She wiggles slightly to punctuate her statement, pulling a strangled groan out of him. He pulls his hand out of her shirt immediately and puts it on her hip, squeezing to still her.

She obeys instantly, pulling away and turning until she’s facing him. His face is grim, jaw set, and she cups his face with one hand as she props herself up on her other elbow. “What’s wrong?”

His face is bright red as he avoids her gaze, free hand moving to adjust the blanket over his hips, hiding his growing arousal from her. Still so embarrassed. She strokes his jaw again and waits for him to work up the courage to speak.

“I just… I’m falling in love with you, Soph.” It’s her turn to freeze, her hand stilling over the prickly growth of new beard. Alistair clenches his jaw at her reaction, and she can feel the joint working under his skin. “I just didn’t want to… keep doing  _ that  _ and you not know how I feel.”

Sophie bites her lip as he speaks, war raging in her mind and in her heart. She cares for Alistair, certainly. Enough to have him share her bedroll at night even without the promise of sex. He’s the only man she’s actually  _ slept  _ with, and that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

But love?

She loved Cullen, the templar who stole her heart instead of protecting her. And where had that led her? It was ill-advised, certainly. That’s how Cullen had described it in his prison. An ill-advised affair, a tryst between a mage and a templar. Something for the tawdry romance novels sometimes found stuffed within other books on the library shelves.

Alistair waits for her to speak, high spots of color on his cheeks, but no anger or hurt registering in his warm brown eyes. He’s just waiting, calmly, for her to find words for her feelings. He doesn’t want to pressure her; he doesn’t want to trick her. He’s pure. Too pure to be a Warden, a warrior, certainly. 

She doesn’t love him now, but she  _ could  _ love him. If she can figure out how to let herself, she could fall as hard for him as she did for Cullen, back before she knew what real pain and fighting look like. Before she knew the scent of demons, abominations, darkspawn, and blood magic. Before she woke up regularly from nightmares that have nothing to do with demons, shaking and crying in another man’s arms.

She must have started smiling a little as she thought, because Alistair is starting to smile up at her too. Hope blooms in his eyes as he waits, but wait he does.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, and wants to cry as she sees that hope die a little. “I…” she tries to say the words and they stick in her throat. She looks away from him and takes a deep breath before trying again. “I could love you, Alistair. If we survive this. You are…” words run through her head, none she can say aloud: perfect, too good, more than I deserve. She settles on finishing with “a wonderful man,” and smiles as he blushes hotter.

“Can I kiss you?” Alistair’s question is so innocent, his hand uncertain where it reaches to cup the back of her head, as though they haven’t been sharing a bed for weeks. 

At Sophie’s smile and nod, he pulls her down to him rather than sitting up to meet her. She relaxes against him, slipping down in their bedroll to press her body into his.

She’s careful not to push, not to ask for more than he wants to give, but the new honesty between them seems to have made him more comfortable. He rolls them almost immediately, settling between her legs. The heavy weight of him, balanced on his elbows above her, makes goosebumps break out over her whole body and her breath come out as a shuddering sigh that has him smiling.

“Tell me what to do.” He nuzzles against the crook of her neck, tickling her over-sensitive skin. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to her pulse, and she swallows hard before she can answer.

“Just touch me,” she manages. “Kiss me.”

“Where?” Another kiss, this one to the underside of her jaw. She turns her head, exposing her ear to him, and he pulls the lobe between his lips.

“Everywhere.”

\---

Alistair touches her whenever he has the chance. After a battle, before they part ways, as they’re sleeping, it doesn’t matter. It’s like he’s drawn to her, following in her wake like she’s the only bright spot in his life.

She may well be.

She watches as he polishes his armor, the motions careful and practiced, a habit developed over nearly ten years as a templar recruit and then nearly a year of being a Grey Warden. It’s methodical, and he does it the same way every evening. It’s a soothing sight, she thinks, even as she gets distracted by the fact that she’s been with him long enough to have memorized his habits.

Does he think the same of hers?

He glances up and catches her staring at him. Even a few weeks ago, they both would have blushed and avoided each other’s gaze, but now that they’re sharing more than just their tent he just raises one eyebrow and earns himself a smirk.

The expression covers up her uncertainty. He grins back at her, seemingly unaware, and finishes working with his armor in favor of cleaning and sharpening his sword. Darkspawn blood isn’t kind to the little group’s weapons.

When he’s finished with that and finds her still staring at him, his lips twist into a smirk. It’s an expression she easily recognizes, and her body responds to its intention immediately. Her face flushes as heat pools in her core, and Aoife lifts her head to sniff at the air before glancing with amusement between her humans. 

Alistair stands, his sword still clutched in one hand, and offers his other hand to her. She takes it and lets him pull her to her feet and out of camp. Aoife follows a little ways, staying just close enough to warn them if they’re going to have company--friendly or otherwise.

When they’re alone, Alistair wraps his free arm around her waist to pull her body flush against his and kisses her soundly, his tongue immediately dipping into her mouth. She digs her fingers into the back of his neck and fairly climbs his body until he’s forced to drop his sword and support her with both arms tucked under her ass.

Almost as if they belong there.

He takes a few steps to press her back against the nearest tree, using it to bring their bodies even closer together. With her hands still buried in his hair, Alistair turns his attention to kissing down the line of her neck to the hollow of her throat, dipping his tongue against her heated skin.

This is the kind of sex that her body is used to, heady and fast, and she nearly whines with excited impatience as Alistair fumbles pushing her robes out of the way. He laughs against her skin, but her urgency is infectious.

His face finds its way back into the crook of her neck where he nibbles on her skin, leaving little marks she can heal if she wants to, but he knows she won’t. It embarrassed him once, but now he does it whenever he can.

They move together, finding a rhythm that serves them both. Each of Sophie’s gasps and muffled moans thrill Alistair, making him smile even as his pleasure builds too.

She comes silently, pulling on Alistair’s hair where it’s fisted in one hand, then murmurs his name in his ear as she relaxes. She kisses his cheek, his ear, rasps her lips along the scruff of his jaw, and finally just rests her forehead against his as a string of mumbled curses roll off of his tongue, signaling his end.

They relax together, slowly, just breathing deeply together, and Alistair kisses her firmly before setting her down on her feet. She clings to him, hands on his shoulders, for another long moment until her legs stop trembling.

Alistair steps away from her, pulling his trousers back up and retying them before wiping at the sweat beading on his face with his sleeve. He scoops his sword up and turns just in time to see  Sophie holding her ripped smalls up for his inspection.

Her face is still flushed with pleasure, and when she arches an eyebrow at him it makes desire for her stir again. He grins at her, utterly unapologetic, and she tosses the material at his face. He catches it easily, tucking it in his pocket, and steps closer to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“You owe me another new pair,” she snaps, no anger in her voice. A smile pulls at her lips that she tries to hide as he guides her back toward camp.

He chuckles. “I’m sure the Dalish have some you can buy when we get there,” he points out. Aoife greets them at the edge of camp with a knowing look and a wagging tail.

Sophie reaches out and rubs behind her ears, ignoring the little flush of embarrassment that comes with the thought of haggling with an elf over the price of smalls. 

Alistair ignores the glances they get from their companions, a tough skin building up after weeks together, and watches as Sophie glides across the campsite to giggle about something with Leliana.

Words catch on the tip of his tongue as he watches her, words she’s still not ready to say. His chest tightens and he swallows down the  _ I love you  _ that threatens to come out. Aoife huffs next to him, and he squats to give her a good scratch behind the ears.

“We’ll get her there, won’t we girl?” Alistair waits as Aoife considers his question, then smiles as the mabari licks his cheek with her wide tongue.

He’ll take that as a yes.

\---

He’s disappointed but not surprised when she declares him king at the Landsmeet. It isn’t what he wanted, but it’s what’s best for Ferelden. She knows this. It’s why she chose him over Anora.

At least she didn’t insist on Anora ruling at his side. That would be… not ideal.

Sophie stands behind him and to the side as he accepts his duty, her hands clasped behind her back. When he turns back to look at her, she  _ bows _ to him and his stomach twists uncomfortably at the sight. It feels wrong to see her subservient to him, and he resolves to speak to her about it.

He would have her at his side if he could, if Ferelden was ready, if Chantry Law allowed it. 

Teagan and Eamon corner him before he can speak to Sophie, and she slips away. They remind Alistair of his duty to the Fereldan people and the Calenhad bloodline, of the importance of marrying well to ensure the future of the country.

The Cousland girl was at the Landsmeet with her brother Fergus, perhaps she would make a strong queen. She’s young yet, but in a few years. At least she’s firmly on Alistair’s side against Howe and Loghain. Arls Bryland and Wulff also have daughters of marriageable age, should Lady Cousland not be amenable to becoming queen, or should her brother not want to negotiate a contract.

Alistair refuses to respond to their questions. The idea of marrying another woman makes his stomach roll, and he can’t listen to his uncles speak for another moment. He pushes past them, determined and desperate to find Sophie wherever she’s waiting for him.

He pulls her out of the kitchens and away from everyone else, heading to the room waiting for him upstairs. She follows obediently, one hand clutched in his, and waits until he locks the door behind him to speak.

“Alistair, if you’re angry at me--”

“I’m not.” He silences her with a kiss, tugging her against his chest with the hand he still has gripped in his. He moves to grasp her waist, bending forward until he’s crowding over her. She sighs into his mouth and parts her lips farther to allow his tongue entrance.

When he finally breaks the kiss, she’s breathless and her lips are slightly swollen. She sags against him, fingers digging into the collar of his shirt. He smiles down at her unfocused expression and nudges her nose with his.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

She tilts her head to the side and stares up at him. Her forehead wrinkles as she considers his words. “Who said you’re going to lose me?”

Alistair opens his mouth to respond, then pauses. Sophie’s staring up at him with a growing look of stubbornness on her face, her jaw clenching. He sighs and rests his forehead against hers, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

“I need to take a queen,” he murmurs. “I need to have an heir.”

She nods and closes his eyes as he continues running warm hands over her skin. “I can’t do either,” she says. There’s only a hint of sadness in her voice, no anger. “Even if I wasn’t a Grey Warden, I’m still a mage.” She leans forward and rests her head against his chest. “You’ll be the king after this. No one can tell the king what to do.”

He rests his chin on the top of her head. “You would stay with me. You’d be the court enchanter and my… my mistress?”

Sophie takes a moment to consider this as the offer it is. Could she stay in the palace and watch him marry another? Did she care for him enough to stay and work for the crown and warm his bed on the nights he doesn’t want to be with his wife?

The thought of him with another woman makes a surge of anger rise up in her chest, but she quickly pushes it down and away. It’s not his fault she was born a mage. He would marry her if he could. He would  _ stay  _ with her if he could, and this is the only way.

Finally, she nods. “Yes. I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

Alistair’s arms tighten around her until she can barely breathe, and she has to squeak out a protest before he relaxes his hold again.

It isn’t an  _ I love you  _ but it’s the closest she’s come, and his heart swells.

He adjusts his grip on her and lifts her until her face is above his, their chests pressed together, and walks the few steps to his bed. She laughs, hands clutching at his hair, and the smile she gives him as he sets her down is one he’ll remember for as long as he lives.

\---

Sophie is waiting in Alistair’s room when Morrigan’s ritual is completed. She sits on the edge of his bed, her heels resting on the frame, her head in her hands. Her shoulders shake softly as tears she can’t control escape her eyes, and she doesn’t even notice when he enters until he puts his hand on her shoulder.

He sinks onto the mattress next to her and wraps his arm around her shoulder, tucking her against his chest. She nuzzles into his tunic and her stomach turns over when she realizes.

He still smells like Morrigan.

She turns her head away from him as she catches her breath, desperate to stop crying. She needs to be strong. This was harder for him than it was for her, even if they did it to stay alive and  _ together  _ no matter what happens.

It’s only when she finally sits up and wipes at her face with her sleeve that she realizes Alistair was crying too. His eyes are red-rimmed and his cheeks blotchy, but his face is dry.

He puts his hand on either side of her face and pulls her forehead to rest against his. He closes his eyes and just breathes in her scent, slowly calming himself. She puts her hands on his and they take deep breaths together.

Alistair breaks the silence first. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice quiet. Broken.

Sophie’s eyes blink open. “What? Why?”

“That you had to make that decision for me. That I let you. That I… Morrigan…” he can’t finish his apology, just pulls Sophie closer to him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls his face into the crook of her neck, running her fingers through his hair. He sniffs quietly, but his shoulders don’t shake.

“Come, love,” Sophie says finally, pulling out of Alistair’s arms and standing up, missing the look of utter delight that passes over his face at the name. “There’s a bath waiting for me in my room. I’ll share it with you.”

Alistair lets Sophie lead him by the hand down the hall and into her room. She locks the door behind them as he starts to undress, then she reaches one hand into the tub. The water is tepid, having sat while Morrigan’s ritual was completed. She heats it easily until it steams, then waits as Alistair steps behind her to undo the laces of her dress.

He kisses the back of her neck as he exposes the skin, moving down her spine as far as he can reach without kneeling. When the laces are undone, he slides his rough hands up from her waist to her shoulders, pushing the material away until it lands on the floor around their feet, leaving her just in her smalls.

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her back against him, and she can feel his nakedness pressed against her. She sighs in contentment as he leans down to kiss her cheek, forcing herself to forget what happened before.

“You should wear dresses more often,” he whispers. “They suit you.” His hands wander again, up to cup her bare breasts, then down to push her smalls over her hips. “They look better on the floor, however.”

Sophie’s surprised laugh comes out as an inelegant snort, and Alistair laughs too. She pulls away from him and points to the tub, and he climbs in obediently. When she slides in behind him, the water sloshes over the side, but they both ignore it.

She works up a lather from the soaps left behind and washes Alistair’s back and hair. He hums in quiet contentment as her fingers massage into sore muscles, working out knots that have been there so long he forgot they shouldn’t be.

By the time she’s finished, he’s completely relaxed, resting against her chest and pushing her uncomfortably into the back of the tub. She runs soothing hands down his sides under the water, curling her fingers until her nails can scratch at him. He shivers, pulling away, and she laughs low into his ear.

She reaches lower, tickling at the edge of his hip, as far down as she can reach. He shivers again, grabbing her hand. 

“Stop that.”

She kisses his cheek. “Why?” When he doesn’t answer, she pulls her hand from his grasp and scratches over his chest, mussing the light smattering of auburn hair in the center. She nuzzles her face against his and smooths over one of his nipples, startling a tiny moan from him.

“Sophie.”

“What?” She does it again, and he grabs her hand once more to still it. Water sloshes up toward the side of the tub, and she tries to pull away.

Alistair sits up and turns around as best he can, pulling Sophie’s hand up to press his lips to the fleshy part of her thumb. “Please don’t start something you won’t want to finish.” He moves to kiss her wrist, pulling her closer as he kisses up her arm until he can kiss her lips.

She immediately bites his lower lip, tugging on it, earning herself a low, rumbling growl.

“I would never,” she admonishes, gently, then adds: “I just want to remind you who you belong to.”

Alistair leans in for another kiss and earns himself another bite. He shivers all over, running his tongue over his swollen lip. When his eyes meet Sophie’s again, a wolfish grin covers his face. “I belong to you, do I?”

She just blinks up at him. “Of course, your majesty.”

He narrows his eyes at her and shakes his head. “Bed, then, my lady.”

“I’m not sure that’s the proper title.” Sophie grabs a towel to wrap around herself as she stands and steps out of the tub. Alistair follows, drying off as they cross the room to the bed, already turned down.

He picks her up and drops her on the mattress, pulling her towel away from her as he crawls over her body, pressing her into the bed. “I’ll ask Teagan what it is, then,” he says, in a tone that says there will be no more talking for the rest of the night.

\---

The ritual worked, at least. Sophie took the final blow and is still alive. The darkspawn ran away even before she pulled the sword out of the archdemon’s neck, and the horrific itching sensation that the archdemon made the Wardens feel disappeared too.

As soon as Alistair realizes the battle is won, he runs over and scoops Sophie up into his arms. He kisses her, heedless of the darkspawn blood covering her, the way she’s clutching her right arm to her chest, and the growing crowd surrounding them.

They both survived.

They’re going to be okay.

\---

Morrigan is gone. She disappeared as the darkspawn did, off into the Wilds perhaps, as she promised. The coronation is tomorrow, and Alistair and Sophie are hiding in her room in the palace. Grey Wardens from Orlais are finally entering the country, too late to be of any use, just in time to question them about how they both survived.

“I don’t know” is their official answer.

They  _ don’t _ know. They don’t know anything.

Alistair’s arms are around Sophie, but something feels wrong. A nagging discontent sits in the center of Sophie’s chest, keeping her awake.

His uncles hadn’t been happy to see her. Oh, they’d smiled and congratulated her and asked how she was healing, but their eyes had been hollow, hostile even. They don’t like her. They don’t want her here.

She shifts uncomfortably, and Alistair pulls her closer to his chest. He presses a kiss to her bare shoulder, then another under her ear, smiling against her skin as she shivers. He reaches up to smooth her hair away from his face and kisses her again.

“Sophie.”

“Mmm?”

“You know I love you?”

Sophie pauses, body tensing. Alistair just waits for her response, used to the way those words scare her by now. He avoids saying them because she doesn’t love him--she’s not  _ in  _ love with him--and he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. But they need to talk about this.

Finally, finally, she nods. “I do.”

He clears his throat and clenches his teeth together before continuing, “I know you don’t… feel the same way about me.” Sophie opens her mouth to protest, but he pushes through, “I know it was that templar, the one from the Circle. I thought you would be able to leave him behind, but I was wrong.”

“Alistair, I--”

“The coronation is tomorrow, and then the Wardens want one of us to be the new Warden-Commander of Ferelden. You’ll have to go away for that. Since the Howes lost Amaranthine after Rendon attacked the Couslands, I was considering giving it to the Wardens and naming you Arlessa.”

Sophie holds herself as still as she can, letting Alistair’s words wash over her. He’s just handing her over to the Wardens, after everything they’ve been through together.

“I thought you were going to make me Court Enchanter,” she manages, voice small.

Alistair’s arms tighten around her. “You’re a Warden first. If I wasn’t being coronated, I’m sure they’d make me go instead.”

“You don’t want me anymore.” What was it Cullen said in the tower?  _ Ill-advised infatuation.  _ Sophie’s eyes fill with tears and she struggles in Alistair’s arms for a moment before he releases her. She slips from the bed and reaches for her clothes, quickly dressing even as Alistair starts speaking again.

“I do want you, Soph. I’ll always want you. I just… I can’t keep you here, with me.” He sits up too, perching on the end of the bed. When she tries to pass by him to leave, he grabs her hands and pulls her against him. He wraps his arms around her and holds her close, though her body stays stiff, and rests his forehead against her shoulder. 

He takes a deep breath and continues speaking into the silence between them. “I love you. I want you to stay with me. I would m… I  _ can’t _ keep you here. You would be happier somewhere else. With someone else.” His voice is strangled, and that’s what makes Sophie finally break. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, sagging against him, and lets herself cry as she feels her dress growing wet under Alistair’s face.

“I don’t want to go,” she whispers, pressing her face into his hair.

“I could order you. I’m the king.”

Sophie swats the back of his head, very gently. “You don’t have authority over Wardens,” she reminds him, and smiles at his watery laugh.

His arms tighten around her waist. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “I’m sorry too.”


	3. The Wardens

True to his word, Alistair appoints Sophie arlessa of Amaranthine almost immediately after his coronation. Aoife is present for both ceremonies, freshly bathed with a brand new collar and kaddis paint thanks to an overly-attentive stablehand. The mabari looks supremely pleased with herself, proud of her humans, even if their smells are different in the city.

Alistair also outfits Sophie with as much as she can take with her to Amaranthine: a set of dragonskin armor from Wade, a fire staff from the Wonders of Thedas, food, coin, dresses he commissioned when they thought she would stay in the palace with him, all things she may possibly need on the short trip up to the arling.

Their goodbye is professional, courteous, with no visible animosity after their split. Sophie even manages to ignore Teagan’s slightly-too-smug smile as she turns away. She mounts the horse Alistair gave to her--yet another last-minute gift, replacing the ones they borrowed from Eamon months prior--and directs it onto Denerim’s main road, Aoife trotting happily at her side.

It’s a new beginning, certainly. Sophie would rather be arlessa of Amaranthine than forced back into the Circle tower, especially after everything that happened there since she left. She would prefer, of course, to remain in Denerim with Alistair, but perhaps he was right. She might be happier in Amaranthine, with someone else. Maybe one of the Wardens there.

She encourages the horse to move faster as they exit the city’s gates. Aoife barks happily as she feels the grass under her paws again, running ahead of the too-slow horse carrying her human. She’s missed this.

\---

Well, Sophie was wrong.

Amaranthine is somehow  _ worse  _ than the Blight was.

Perhaps it was going a whole week without fighting. Perhaps it was the implied promise that Amaranthine would be quieter and she could relax a little, but… well, whatever it was, she was wrong and now she’s  _ furious. _

She’s been fighting through darkspawn for what feels like hours, collecting survivors as she goes, and it feels natural to be fighting alongside Oghren again, but seeing Anders again after two years is just too much for her to handle on top of everything else.

He was excited to see her, possibly because he assumed she wouldn’t be upset that he may  _ or may not  _ have murdered some templars (she isn’t), and he’s following her around like a puppy. It would be sweet except it’s reminding her too much of how Alistair acted after his depression from Ostagar started lifting, and it’s more than she can bear after only a few days apart.

It’s  _ a lot  _ and Sophie keeps reminding herself that if she can just get herself and her men through until the end of the battle, she can take a nice hot bath and then sleep through the night in her very own bed. That’s all she has to do. Just keep incinerating the darkspawn and keep her new companions alive.

At least Aoife is enjoying herself. The war hound was definitely bored in Denerim and then on the trip to Amaranthine. She loves fighting more than Sophie could ever hope to enjoy anything in life.

Just as the last darkspawn is killed and Sophie finds herself back in the courtyard, hoofbeats signal the arrival of… help?

No.

Sophie turns and has to stare up at the dark night sky for a long moment to control the tears of exhaustion that want to spill from her eyes.

It’s a royal convoy, the king arriving only hours after her to make sure everything in Amaranthine is settled. Should she have ridden faster, pushed her horse and Aoife harder to get here before him? Perhaps then she would have been able to stop the darkspawn from taking over the keep the way they did.

Everyone but Sophie bows to Alistair as he approaches. Even Aoife seems to take a moment to bow her head to him before bounding over to receive her customary scratch behind the ears.

Alistair bends to do so, thoroughly loving the mabari before even looking up at Sophie.

The shadows under his eyes have deepened since she last saw him. Has he been sleeping? She takes a half step forward to check on him, but stops herself in time. It is no longer her place to check on him. He made sure of that.

“Your majesty,” she greets, making sure her voice is cool and just respectful enough to pass.

He isn’t fooled. “Lady Amell. It seems I arrived just in time.”

Aoife barks in agreement, looking between the two humans with barely disguised annoyance. This isn’t what she had in mind when she and Sophie left the city for  _ more adventure. _

Anders steps up behind Sophie, obviously sensing something passing between her and their king, and puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Alistair glances at the contact, then up at Anders’ face with a little frown, before turning his attention back to Sophie.

For all of her barely repressed anger, it feels like a civil conversation until the templars show up. Anders stiffens at that, and even Aoife moves to plant herself between the mage and his hunters.

Alistair knows something’s up as well, giving Sophie the out needed to save Anders’ life.

“I’m conscripting him to the Grey Wardens.”

He squeezes her shoulder in thanks. It’s all he can manage.

\---

“I know you best as the little witch who murdered my father.” Sophie eyes the man standing in front of her, trying to see the similarities between him and one of the men she’s killed. “I am Nathaniel Howe. My family owned these lands until you showed up. Do you even remember my father?”

Annoyance washes over Sophie at his words, but she pushes it down. It’s just exhaustion. If she were dealing with this  _ after  _ that bath and nap she’s been craving… 

She sighs.

“Your father brought his end on himself.” Her voice is gentle, but Nathaniel’s anger winds tighter.

He rages silently for a moment before a heavy sigh works its way out of his body, deflating his shoulders until he hunches over before her. “I came here… I thought I was going to try to kill you. To lay a trap for you. But then I realized I just wanted to reclaim some of my family’s things. It’s all I have left.”

Anders has moved closer, again standing at Sophie’s back as though to protect her. Aoife doesn’t seem concerned, remembering as Sophie is the last time a man confessed to wanting to kill her.

Sophie rubs her knuckles across her forehead. She’s  _ too damn tired  _ to deal with this Howe.

She lets him go. She just piles his belongings in his arms, including a bundle of letters she found in the basement with the signature  _ Delilah Howe  _ on the bottom of them, and pushes him out the door on the road to Amaranthine.

Varel is looking at her out of the corner of his eyes like he thinks she’s gone crazy, and maybe she has. Anders gives her her space back as soon as Nathaniel is out of sight, but even he seems a little concerned with just letting a professed attempted murderer walk right out of the Vigil. Only Aoife and Oghren don’t seem to care, and for Oghren it’s because he’s still at the bottom of his cups.

Sophie shrugs and reaches out for Aoife. The mabari crosses to sit next to her, planting her butt on the ground and leaning her heavy side against Sophie’s leg. The mage rests her hands on Aoife’s head, gently rubbing one triangular ear between her fingers.

“Shall we get the Joining out of the way before bed?” she asks, voice weary. Anders and Varel nod, and Oghren delivers a great belch in approval.

Sophie closes her eyes and delivers a quiet prayer to whomever is listening.

_ Please keep them all safe. _

\---

Anders finds her at the bottom of her second bottle of wine, tears still on her face, sitting on the balcony outside of the rooms she’s been given as arlessa. He hesitates half through the door, one foot still in the safety of her room, before he shakes himself and sinks down next to her.

She wipes at her face with the sleeve of her robe and tries to pass him the bottle to share with him. He takes it from her but just sets it out of reach before wrapping one arm around her shoulders.

They sit like that for a long, silent moment, just watching the stars shining down on the Vigil, until Sophie sighs and relaxes against Anders’ side, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Are you happy here, Anders?” Her question is quiet, and he catches his breath before he sighs heavily. “I didn’t want to  _ make  _ you a Warden, but…”

He stops her questions with a quick squeeze around her shoulders, then he starts rubbing his hand up and down her arm. She melts into him more, eyes dropping closed, and falls silent until he finds his words.

“It… isn’t  _ ideal, _ ” he allows. When he feels Sophie drawing in a breath to protest, or maybe apologize, he immediately says, “But if you hadn’t conscripted me, I’d be dead now, or worse.”

She nods. “Tranquil.”

Anders shudders, and she sits up, pulling out of his embrace so she can turn to look at him. She props up on her knees and puts her hands on his shoulders. “I’d never let them make you tranquil, Anders,” she says. She sways and her eyes are glassy, but her voice is deadly serious. “I promise. They’ll have to kill me first.”

His lips part and he stays frozen, silent, as she moves her hands to hold his chin. When he doesn’t speak, she leans in and kisses him softly. He responds immediately, kissing her back as his eyes drop closed, but before she can lean any closer he’s pushing her away and standing up.

He pulls her with him, steadying her when she stumbles.

“My dear commander,” he says, jovial tone forced back into his words. “I believe you’re drunk.”

She giggles, covering her mouth with one hand. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Sorry I kissed you.”

“Oh, you can try that again sometime when you’re not drunk,” he says, “or sometime when we both are. For tonight, you should get some sleep.”

She lists against him, clutching his silly mage robes, and giggles again. “Very well, Alist-- _ Anders _ . Take me to bed.”

Snorting, Anders holds tight to Sophie’s arms and guides her back into her room and to the large bed, pulling the blankets back before guiding her between them. She lays down without complaint, rolling over to nuzzle against the pillows, and he tucks her in before leaving her alone.

His questions can wait.

\---

“Oh! Anders, look what I found!”

Anders turns to follow Sophie’s voice and the first thing he sees is her ass up in the air as she reaches over a low fence. He turns to glance at Oghren, who’s turned away to drink out of his flask, then looks back in time to see Sophie turning to face him with her arms cradled to her chest.

He opens his mouth to ask what she found, but a tiny  _ meow  _ interrupts him, and his heart clenches.

A little orange kitten is clutched in her arms, one of her hands scratching lazily through the fur on its stomach, its paws stretched straight over its head as it purrs in contentment under her attention.

She tries to give it to him twice before he takes it, promising that he can keep it and take care of it here at the Vigil. Aoife looks unimpressed, sniffing at the little ball of fur before turning to sniff at other, more interesting, things around the courtyard.

“I remember you liked that cat in the Circle. What was its name? Wiggums?”

She’s babbling a little, and Anders can’t help but lean down and pressing a hard kiss to Sophie’s lips. She squeaks and turns pink, but her smile is still wide as he immediately begins cooing at the tiny animal.

This feels. This feels like being home.

\---

Aoife is the first to alert them that someone else is on the road. She barks, once, but not the bark that says darkspawn or bandits are near. It’s an inquisitive bark, curious, and she runs off before Sophie can even think to call the mabari back to her side.

She returns, just a moment later, with her tongue lolling out of her mouth and Nathaniel Howe at her side.

Anders immediately steps between them, but Sophie huffs and elbows him out of the way. She puts her hands on her hips but doesn’t move to pull her staff off of her back even as Nathaniel stops just a few paces away.

Aoife sits down at his side and looks up at him with an adoring expression that Sophie can’t help but trust.

Still, Sophie waits for Nathaniel to speak first.

“You set me free. Just let me go, despite what I said or what I might do. I just… I want to know  _ why _ .” Sophie hesitates before she answers and watches as Nathaniel clasps his gloved hands together uncertainly. 

She sighs heavily. “I’m not looking to fight with you.” She doesn’t say that she feels bad for him growing up with a father like Howe, that she knows he was innocent of his father’s crimes, that she knows what it’s like to lose your family. She gives him the simplest answer she can find, and that seems to be enough for him.   
  
He nods. “Even though I was looking for a fight with you.” He doesn’t sound apologetic. He’s just stating a fact. His regret didn’t make it any less true. “Take me with you. Make me a Grey Warden.”   
  
Anders coughs out a laugh before Sophie reaches out and lightly slaps his arm. Nathaniel raises an eyebrow at the easy contact between them, but doesn’t react otherwise. Sophie crosses her arms across her chest and stares up at Nathaniel, trying to read his intentions.   
  
“It’s not that easy, Nathaniel.” It doesn’t sound to him like she’s trying to let him down easy; it sounds more like a warning. She’s giving him a chance to back out, but her imagined challenge just strengthens his resolve.   
  
His eyes flick from her eyes to Anders’, and he quickly decides that the other mage is no threat to him as Aoife leans against his side to give him encouragement. Nathaniel and both mages glance down at her before Nathaniel finds his words again.

“I have nowhere to go,” he starts slowly, watching as Sophie’s eyes soften in understanding. “I fully expected to die in there, maybe I even wanted to. But you let me go.” He pauses, then asks, “Make me a Grey Warden. Let me try.  _ Please _ .”   
  
Sophie nods once as she makes up her mind. She squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath before speaking again. “Very well. Let’s see how you do with the joining.”   
  
She pushes past both of them and leads the way back to the Keep. Nathaniel tries not to watch the sway of her hips as she walks, the way she glances back at them over her shoulder with a strange little smile on her face.   
  
Anders slings one wiry arm around Nathaniel’s shoulders, pulling him along with an air of camaraderie that makes Aoife bark in approval. 

Sophie glances over her shoulder once more as they pass through the Vigil’s outer gates. The two men following her are walking close to each other, occasionally sneaking glances at each other, sizing each other up. She bites the inside of her lip and straightens her spine as she looks forward again, nodding a greeting to the guards.   
  
She learned from her Joining and from the Joining she oversaw on her first day as Warden-Commander not to hope for recruits to live, not to get too attached to them before she knows if they’re going to live. She felt disappointment at Mhairi’s passing, not because she’d become attached to the girl, but because she’d been such a good fighter.   
  
If Nathaniel doesn’t make it… She shakes her head and rubs at her forehead with the heel of one hand before pushing into the keep’s main hall. This isn’t the time to be letting this strange… attraction fester. She just has to get them through the next hour and then she can worry about it. She can’t stop to worry about whether or not he’s going to survive.   
  
But for some reason she really wants him to survive.

\---

A letter arrives at the Keep written in a shaky hand that Sophie doesn’t recognize. It gets shuffled to the bottom of her stack of papers and forgotten until the end of the day and then ignored when Anders shows up with a bottle of her favorite wine and a glint in his eye that promises a reward if she stops working.

And then the letter gets ignored for much of the following morning when that glint in Anders’ eye doesn’t go away until she manages to leave him, exhausted, asleep tangled in her sheets.

Aoife greets her in her office with a longsuffering expression on her furry face, and Sophie pauses to give her a good, long belly rub in apology.

The letter is from Avernus, posted by Levi Dryden, asking for more Warden blood for his experiments. He’s nearly to a breakthrough, or so he thinks, but he needs her help to get through the next few tests. 

_ You asked me to be more “ethical” in my research, but it is proving to slow my research down considerably. If you want a cure, I need more Wardens to help. _

She stares at the letter with a frown, fingers skimming over the words. She  _ does  _ want a cure. She just doesn’t know if she can share Avernus’ existence with any of the other Wardens, or spare any of them for a trip to Soldier’s Peak.

She  _ definitely  _ can’t go to Soldier’s Peak, not with her duties as arlessa piling up under her duties as Warden-Commander.

A light knock on her door interrupts her spiraling thoughts, and she finds herself smiling up at Nathaniel before she even fully realizes who’s there. Aoife eyes the man for just a moment before rolling to expose her belly, inviting him to scratch it.

He obeys, avoiding Sophie’s gaze for a moment, before standing and moving to sit in one of the chairs facing her desk.

She waits him out, patient, used to his silence by now. She finds it isn’t the result of shyness or anger, usually, but the result of making sure his thoughts are in order before he speaks.

Sometimes it takes him longer to get his thoughts together than others.

“You didn’t change groundskeepers,” he says, and as always his gravely voice sends a thrill through Sophie that she hides behind a single raised eyebrow.

“Should we fire him?” she asks, resting her chin on her fist.

Nathaniel shakes his head, once. “No, no. He… he told me my sister Delilah has moved into Amaranthine. She’s married a shopkeeper there.”

It takes Sophie several heartbeats to take in the information, but when she realizes what he’s saying, she sits up straight and a smile comes to her face. “Oh! Nathaniel, I thought you said your sister died during the Blight.”

He fixes her with a flat look. “I thought she had as well. I… would like to visit her, if I may.”

“Oh, of course you can.” Sophie waves her hand dismissively. “Of course you can. You don’t even have to ask. If you want us to come with you, I was planning on asking you and Anders to come with me to Amaranthine tomorrow to speak with the city guard, but you can go now if you’d like.”

Nathaniel hesitates, gray eyes boring into Sophie’s as he considers her offer. “I… yes, thank you. I will go with you tomorrow.”

Sophie smiles at him, a slow thing, and she could swear Nathaniel’s eyes dip down to her lips before he excuses himself.

She doesn’t let herself think on it. Instead, she crafts her reply to Avernus.

_ If you send Levi to Vigil’s Keep, I’ll provide him with as much blood as I can for your experiments. I cannot and will not send any Wardens to you at this time. There are too few of them here already. _

_ Let me know if there’s anything else I can give to you to help your work move faster. _

\---

Their trip to Amaranthine is narrated by Anders, who spends his time flirting outrageously with the mostly-silent Nathaniel and asking Sophie how much she knows about people in the Circle--some she remembers and knows are either 

 

safe or dead, and some she doesn’t know where they are, like his old lover Karl.

Anders finally goes quiet after that, earning a concerned glance from Nathaniel that only Sophie notices. She offers the rogue a smile, and he immediately turns his face away from her and encourages his horse to move a little ahead of their group. Aoife chases after him, a little bark of impatience echoing across the empty fields around them.

“Nate?” Sophie catches up with him, letting Anders have a moment to himself. After a moment, he glances over at her to indicate she should continue speaking. “Do you know where your sister is, exactly?”

Nathaniel shakes his head. “Only that she married a shopkeeper.”

Sophie sighs a little, shading her eyes with one hand as she peers up at the city steadily growing closer up at the top of a rise. “You can go straight to the market district to look for her if you like, and we’ll find you there after we speak to Constable Aidan.” She pauses for Nathaniel to acknowledge her, and when he does speak she prompts, “Sound good?”

He shoots her a sideways glance, gray eyes burning into her, and she knows she’s blushing before he finally looks away and nods. 

They split up at the city gates. Nathaniel turns left and walks down to the market district while Sophie, Anders, and Aoife pause to speak with Aidan before climbing the stairs to move toward the tavern. Sophie is about to turn to check the chanter’s board when Anders grabs her elbow, pulling her behind him as he changes course.

“Namaya!” he greets, startling an elven woman to attention. She gazes up at him, face settling into seriousness, and immediately gets down to business.

Apparently Anders has secrets he hasn’t told Sophie--not that she’s surprised, exactly, but this does seem like something she should know. He’s been searching for his phylactery, correctly guessing that with it destroyed, the templars won’t be able to track him down.

The Ferelden Circle moved its collection of phylacteries to Amaranthine, perhaps a result of Sophie’s adventure with Jowan, and they’re just waiting in a warehouse. It seems too good to be true, but Anders is so excited Sophie can’t bear to tell him no.

She does say that they should get Nathaniel first, and sets Aoife after him.

He’s talking to a dark haired woman with an identical sharp chin when they approach, and he immediately introduces them to her before resuming his conversation with Delilah.

“Times must have been hard, Delilah, but you can do better than this. Come back to the estate until we find somewhere else.” He turns to Sophie and reaches out as though he’s going to take her elbow, but he pulls his hand back at the last minute. His eyes are still on hers, though, pleading, and she finds herself speaking before she knows what she’s going to say.

“Absolutely,” she says, guilt twisting in her gut as she remembers exactly why Delilah no longer has a home at the Vigil. “Whatever you need; we’ll take care of you.”

Delilah’s forehead wrinkles in confusion for just a moment before shaking her head. She smiles softly at Sophie in thanks before turning back to her brother. “Oh, Nathaniel. I didn’t marry Albert out of desperation. I adore him!” Nathaniel’s calm mask slips as she continues, “I was so happy to be away from father’s evil. This is so much better.”

Anders and Sophie both turn to Nathaniel as he protests, and Aoife walks over to lean against his leg. His hand rests on the top of her head, taking the comfort she offers without question. Sophie drifts away from the siblings, pulling Anders with her to give them privacy, and they’re in the middle of negotiating with another shopkeeper when Nathaniel reappears at their sides.

“Are you alright?” Sophie rests her hand on Nathaniel’s forearm, squeezing softly in the only show of sympathy she can give. She waits for a long moment as he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.

“Yes,” he says finally, eyes dancing between her and Anders before settling on her face again. “She seems happy. It… is a lot to take in. She agreed with you that father deserved to die.”

Sophie opens her mouth to protest, but Nathaniel cuts her off.

“I wish I’d known some of this sooner. I feel like such a fool.” He sighs again, looking down at Aoife as Sophie squeezes his arm again.

“It isn’t your fault,” she says, voice soft. “You couldn’t have known.”

Anders reaches out and squeezes Nathaniel’s shoulder, the motion one of sympathy rather than of flirtation, but Nathaniel shrugs them both off after only a moment.

“Was your errand successful, as well?” None of them miss the subject change, but they let it go. 

“We have one more stop, but it’s nearby. It shouldn’t take long.”

\---

“You can’t arrest me! King Alistair allowed my conscription!” Anders is furious, lightning already crackling around his fingertips, and Nathaniel takes a step away before fitting an arrow to his bow. Aoife’s ears are back and the fur along her back is standing on end as they all face down the knight-lieutenant.

Rylock scowls and she draws on her powers, sending out a cleanse to remove Anders’ spell. “The Chantry’s authority supersedes the crown in this matter,” she snaps. “You cannot hide within the Grey Warden’s ranks.”   
  
This makes Sophie’s mouth twist into a snarl, and she takes a hard step forward. Anders alters his stance so that he’ll be able to draw his staff quickly if he needs it. Rylock notices this too and her fingers clench around her sword’s hilt even as she turns her attention to Sophie.   
  
The little mage draws herself up to her full height, lifting her chin to stare into Rylock’s eyes. Nathaniel glances quickly at her to see the little tremble in her hands--years of living in the Circle deeply instilled her fear of angry templars, but she’s standing firm, protecting Anders.   
  
This is the same strong woman who slew the archdemon at the king’s side. The woman who gathered an army in less than a year, inspiring a blighted nation to fight for its own survival. The woman who looked at Nathaniel and decided he was worth saving, worth her mercy. She looked at Anders too and decided he was hers, and now she’s going to make good on that decision.   
  
Nathaniel snaps his attention back to the templar as Sophie says, “No, he stays with us.”   
  
Rylock matches Sophie’s snarl with one of her own. “Hardly surprising, from another mage .” She turns her attention back to Anders and draws her sword. “I do not know how you inspire such loyalty, Anders, but it will avail you naught. Now you come with us.”   
  
The room explodes into action as the three templars each unleash holy smites. Sophie and Anders both crumple, their legs giving out as the sudden lack of mana makes them collapse. Nathaniel looses the arrow he already nocked before drawing and shooting off two more in rapid succession as he moves away from Rylock.

Aoife lunges for one of the templars, knocking him down before he can draw his sword, and rips out his throat. Nathaniel ignores the screams that fade into blood-choked gurgles.

The third templar drops immediately, Nathaniel’s arrows embedded deep in his flesh. Rylock charges at Nathaniel as he retreats, and he drops his bow in favor of his twin daggers. He dodges out of her way, cloaking himself in shade so that she can’t see where he’s doing. He swings around behind her, daggers searching for a weak point in her armor.   
  
She spins, slamming the pommel of her sword into his side. A rib cracks under the impact, and he hisses through his teeth as he dances out of her way. She’s faster than other people he’s fought, her templar training--or maybe whatever power templars have to control mages--giving her an advantage that he isn’t used to.   
  
He dodges her blows as often as he can, slashing at her with his daggers until one finds purchase under her raised arm. It slices deeply between her ribs and she drops her sword, allowing Nathaniel to draw his other dagger across her throat.   
  
He’s back by Sophie’s side before Rylock hits the floor, hands cupping her face. She blinks up at him, not really seeing him through the haze left behind by the smite. He brushes a curl off of her forehead and her eyes focus slightly. When she recognizes him, she smiles softly and raises one hand up to tug on the end of his dark hair.   
  
“Nate,” she murmurs, lowering her hand again to rub her face as she slurs, “ ’m gonna be sick.” He reacts immediately, helping her roll onto her side as she coughs and retches.   
  
As soon as she’s done, he pulls her away from her sick and lays her gently back down. She grasps his hand as he tries to smooth her hair again and squeezes his fingers.   
  
“How can I help?” A rustle of fabric and a groan remind him that he hasn’t even checked on Anders yet, and he casts an anxious look at the other mage. He seems to be faring slightly better than their commander, because he’s already sitting up and leaning against Aoife, but he’s extremely pale with sweat standing out on his face.   
  
Anders reaches into the pouch on his belt and offers a small vial to Nathaniel. He takes it and stares blankly at Anders for a moment, until the mage grunts out directions: “She needs to drink it.”   
  
Nathaniel pops the top off of the bottle with his teeth before pressing it to Sophie’s lips. She parts them and lets him pour the glimmering blue liquid into her mouth. She swallows convulsively, coughs once, then sighs and relaxes. The color slowly comes back into her cheeks and she opens her eyes once more to see both men staring at her.   
  
She sits up slowly, and Nathaniel has to lean back slightly to give her room. Their hands are still clasped, but he doesn’t let go until she pulls away, casting a wide-eyed glance at Anders. The mage still looks pale, but he evidently isn’t upset at their contact because he just grins lopsidedly at her.   
  
Nathaniel sits back, scooting away from her, as his face heats. He isn’t sure what’s between the two mages, but suddenly he feels like he’s intruding on something. He shouldn’t have reacted so strongly to Sophie’s collapse; surely now she’ll start to think poorly of his ability to think clearly in a stressful situation.   
  
She’ll start to think poorly of him.   
  
She frowns at his movement, but he doesn’t know what it means. She turns away from him, to Anders, and directs her frown at the other mage instead. “Do you have more lyrium potions?” He shakes his head, and she sighs. “Not all of us are used to being smote--smited? I’ll have to start carrying my own if we’re going to be dealing with templars.” She spits out the word like it’s a curse, and Nathaniel realizes for her it is. She glances over at Rylock’s body, then turns to look at Nathaniel over her shoulder. “I think you deserve a raise for this.”   
  
He barks out a laugh before he can stop himself, and he’s rewarded with one corner of her mouth lifting into a smirk. He quickly looks back at Anders, and is relieved to see that the other mage is already looking nearly recovered from his fight.   
  
Anders hauls himself to his feet and reaches a hand down to Sophie. She lets him pull her upright and stands wobbling for a moment before Nathaniel is on his feet and at her other side. He wraps an arm around her waist, and she leans against him gratefully, one hand still entwined with Anders’.   
  
Neither man wants to let go, and they look at each other over the top of her head for a second as though gauging each other’s intentions. Anders looks away first, content with whatever he sees in Nathaniel’s eyes, and says, “Let’s get you back to the Vigil.”   
  
She shakes her head. “Let’s just go to the inn. We can stay the night and go back tomorrow. I don’t want to ride all the way back like this.”   
  
Nathaniel nods even as Anders sighs in irritation. Nathaniel leads the way through the abandoned warehouse and through the streets of Amaranthine. They earn themselves a few sideways glances as they walk tangled together, but once Sophie is recognized as the Warden-Commander, people give them a respectful distance.   
  
In the inn, Anders negotiates with the innkeeper and receives the very last room available. Nathaniel helps Sophie up the stairs as Anders buys some food with the coins Sophie pressed into his hands, and quickly finds himself frowning at a room with one large bed in the middle of it.   
  
Sophie pushes away from him and immediately crawls into the middle of the bed, laying facedown on the pillow. He stares at her for a moment, shifting from foot to food, until she rolls onto her side to glare at him.   
  
“I can hear you brooding all the way over here,” she says mulishly. “You might as well take off your armor and get comfortable.”   
  
He crosses his arms over his chest as his heart stutters. “You’re still wearing yours,” he points out.   
  
She raises an eyebrow at him. “If you want me out of my armor, you’ll have to come unbuckle it yourself. I’m too tired.” She maintains eye contact, waiting, daring him to help. He takes a deep breath, trying to decide the seriousness of her words, before deciding that he couldn’t let his commander try to sleep in dragonskin armor regardless.   
  
With a few long strides he’s across the room, sitting beside her. She pushes herself up woozily and lets him search for the buckles that held her armor together. He finds them easily enough, and soon he has each piece piled neatly on the table next to the bed. Sophie is left in a thin tunic and leggings, and she curls back into the pillow without commenting on her state of undress.   
  
Nathaniel swallows thickly and glances towards the closed door. What is taking Anders so long?   
  
He looks back at Sophie, frowns down at her still form, then slowly starts to remove his own armor. She rolls over to watch him, and he does his best to ignore her proximity.   
  
“Where did you get dragonskin armor, anyway? Don’t mages usually just wear robes?” He doesn’t turn to look at her, focusing on unlacing his boots, so he misses the sad little smile that crosses her face.   
  
After a pause, she answers: “Should I have fought the archdemon in my Circle robes? Those things aren’t meant to protect us from anything. ”   
  
“Anders wears his.” One boot off, he focuses on the other, and hopes she doesn’t notice how slowly he’s moving. She does, but doesn’t mention it.   
  
“I thought you’d know better by now than to question anything Anders does.”   
  
Nathaniel chuckles and stands to pile his armor next to Sophie’s. When he turns back around, she’s moved to the very center of the bed, sitting up with her legs crossed, waiting for him. He keeps his eyes on hers as he sits at the very edge, trying to judge by her expression whether she’s okay with this.   
  
She is.   
  
“We… killed a high dragon.” Her eyes dance away from his briefly before finding their way back. He wonders who “we” is, but doesn’t ask. She obviously doesn’t want to explain. “And… well, you know Wade. He made the armor for me.”   
  
“Ah.” There isn’t much left to say. “Where did you manage to find a high dragon?”   
  
“In the Frostbacks. There was a cult worshipping her. They thought she was Andraste.” Nathaniel laughs, but he can tell from her expression that she’s serious. “We had to get past her to make it to the Urn of Sacred Ashes.”   
  
Nathaniel blinks, mirth disappearing slightly. “The mythical ashes of Andraste? The ones with healing powers?”   
  
She arches an eyebrow. “The very same. They healed Arl Eamon and helped us win the Landsmeet.”   
  
“Huh. Imagine that.” He leans closer to her, relaxing just a little into the soft mattress. This makes her smile brighten, and she leans in too. The color is back in her cheeks, though she still has deep shadows under her eyes.   
  
“Did I ever tell you about the werewolves?”   
  
They sit together as Sophie goes through some of the more incredible things she witnessed during her time traveling Ferelden to stop the Blight, As she speaks, Nathaniel relaxes more into her voice until he’s lying lengthwise across the bed in front of her, head propped up on his arm.   
  
That’s how Anders finds them when he finally shows up with their dinner. He has a tray piled high with food, three glasses, and two bottles of wine. Sophie stops speaking mid-sentence to survey the food as he climbs onto the bed next to her.   
  
“I didn’t tell you to spend all of my money,” she points out, but Nathaniel can see the little smile she’s trying to hide.   
  
Anders sniffs like she’s insulted him somehow and drops a few coins onto the blanket in front of her. She chuckles and scoops them up, moving to pile them on the table that holds her armor.   
  
Nathaniel watches her move, giving in to the temptation to let his eye take in her form. He looks away before she turns back around, and catches Anders looking at him. He manages not to blush at being caught admiring Sophie’s ass, but he does blush at the wink Anders shoots him.   
  
He looks away. He doesn’t know what to do with that.   
  
The three of them eat together and drink both bottles of wine. Sophie’s cheeks flush quickly, less used to drinking than the two men who have become her favorite companions, and she giggles girlishly at the stories Anders is telling of the Circle.   
  
Anders has caught the light mood that followed their battle, and Nathaniel is endlessly thankful that the mage isn’t going to grace them with another lecture on the problems with the Circles. He’s too tired to deal with that.   
  
With dinner finished and the wine all gone, the three companions climb into bed to sleep. Sophie keeps her clothing on, sliding under the thin blanket in the center of the large bed, stretching out on her stomach. Anders pulled his robe off, leaving him in just a thin pair of trousers. He climbs in beside Sophie and lays on his side, rubbing the other mage’s back.   
  
Nathaniel hesitates, unsure whether he should join them. After a moment, Sophie opens one eye and peers up at him.   
  
“Just lay down, Nate,” she murmurs, voice slightly slurred by the wine. “ ‘s fine.”   
  
He obeys, settling down stiffly on Sophie’s other side. Her eyes flutter closed and she slides one hand across the sheet to rest on his arm. He turns his head to look at her, but her breathing has already evened out into slumber.   
  
Anders is still awake, though he seems to be drooping quickly. He still has one hand on Sophie’s back, but he’s smiling at Nathaniel. The rogue feels a tightness in his chest, a sense of belonging that he hasn’t felt in… well, ever. He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes, trying to push the warmth of Sophie’s hand away from his heart if not from his arm.   
  
She’s drunk. She must just be an affectionate drunk. This doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean that she returns any of the…  _ feelings _ he’s been harboring since she let him leave the Vigil with his family’s things. It doesn’t mean that she’ll be comfortable with what he feels towards her.   
  
He falls into a fitful sleep, waking every time Sophie or Anders shift around. He wakes up once with his arm around Sophie, her face resting on his shoulder and one arm draped over his chest. He flickers back to consciousness enough to think he should move her, shift her back into Anders’ arms where she belongs, but he falls asleep before he can act on the thought, lulled by the warmth emanating from the mage’s body.   
  
The next time he wakes up, it’s to long fingers stroking his arm. He still has his arms wrapped around Sophie, but Anders has somehow made it across the bed to join them. He’s draped one arm across Sophie’s body, resting his hand on Nathaniel’s bicep. His fingers are making little circles, but when Nathaniel stretches to see Anders’ face, the mage is sound asleep with his chin resting on the top of Sophie’s head.   
  
Anders’ fingers are cold, a surprising contrast to Sophie’s warmth. It sends a shiver through Nathaniel, and Sophie mumbles something in her sleep at the movement that he can’t quite catch. She shifts closer to him, nuzzling against him, and Anders reacts as well. He pulls his hand away from Nathaniel, and the rogue finds himself frowning at the loss of contact before he knows what he’s thinking. Anders rests his hand on Nathaniel’s chest, moving one leg over Sophie to rest between Nathaniel’s feet.   
  
Nathaniel swallows hard, completely surprised by the feeling that comes with being held by both mages at one time, even if it’s in their sleep.   
  
He feels at  _ home. _

\---

“Nate?”

He looks up at her over the top of his book and doesn’t react other than raising his eyebrows at the sight of his Warden-Commander leaning on his door frame with a bottle of wine in one hand and two of his mother’s crystal glasses in the other. She’s smiling at him, a little uncertainty shining in her eyes, her usual armor left behind in favor of a soft blue dress.

He closes his book and sets it on his thigh and watches as her smile grows.

“Am I bothering you?”

He shakes his head, and she crosses the room to sit on the edge of his bed, facing his chair. She perches there, feet not quite reaching the floor, and hands him the glasses so she can fill them with the wine. She pours too much, filling them as much as possible before taking her glass from him.

They sit in silence for a moment as they drink, then for another as she refills her glass. 

“Is something wrong?” Nathaniel asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. This brings him a little closer to Sophie, and she has to take a deep breath to keep from leaning away.

She shakes her head and swallows another gulp of wine before speaking. “You’re hurting.” It’s a statement, not a question, and her heart twists as his eyes drop to the floor between them. She reaches out with her free hand and cups his jaw, thumb stroking over his cheek. “Let me help.”

He pulls out of her grasp and finishes his first glass of wine in one deep swallow. His eyes refuse to meet hers as he stands and steps away from her in the small room, trying to put space between himself and Sophie.

“I don’t want your pity,” he finally forces out, his shoulders hunched away from her. She finishes her wine too and steps up behind him, placing one hand flat on his back.

“It’s not pity, Nate,” she murmurs. “I want you.”

He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t relax either. “What about Anders? I don’t want--”

“Anders sent me here.” Nathaniel turns sharply, his eyebrows pulling together as his forehead wrinkles. Sophie doesn’t step away, just moves to take his hand in hers. “He knows, too. I…” she pauses, narrowing her eyes, trying to think of the best way to explain her relationship with Anders. “What’s between Anders and me doesn’t mean the same thing can’t happen between the two of us. Or between you and Anders. Or… or all three of us.”

Nathaniel’s nostrils flare as he sucks in a deep breath, and Sophie grins up at him. She takes a step closer, raising her free hand to rest on his chest. He covers it with his, closing his eyes as she slowly presses her body against his.

“Nate? Do you want me to go?”

His eyes open again, this time flashing with heat, and now it’s Sophie’s turn to catch her breath. “Stay.”

\---

Sophie’s bed is big enough for the three of them to comfortably share. Even Anders, as tall as he is, can rest across the width of it without his feet hanging off of the bed. Not that he spends a lot of time resting in that position, exactly, but it  _ can  _ be done.

Aoife and Ser Pounce don’t mind giving up their spots on the mattress either, preferring to spend their time finding people who  _ aren’t  _ otherwise occupied to slip them table scraps. It helps that the nights their humans spend together make them happier the next day, much happier than they ever are returning from one of their trips to the Wending Wood or the Blackmarsh.

The other Wardens don’t seem to care about what their Commander is getting up to either. Nathaniel and Anders are subject to some teasing, particularly from Oghren, but otherwise the Wardens are happy that they’re happy.

Sigrun and Velanna are too wrapped up in each other to care, anyway, and the Orlesian Wardens are used to such things. They even have a term for it,  _ ménage à trois _ .

Voldrik works with Sophie’s hard-earned money to upgrade the Vigil over the winter, building up its walls and defenses until he claims it’s as solid as human construction can be. Dworkin spends his days refining his explosives recipe, taking Wardens out of the Vigil to protect him as he tests his inventions out in the wild.

Seneschal Varel throws the Wardens a Satinalia party without Sophie asking him to. The mages actually forgot about the holiday until Nathaniel presents them with gifts and reminds them of the feast planned. It’s the happiest holiday Sophie can remember spending, surrounded by her new family and friends.

It’s one of the last happy days she’ll spend in the Vigil for a long time.

\---

When they hear that Amaranthine is under attack, Nathaniel wants to leave immediately to defend the city where he grew up, the city where his sister now lives. Sophie can’t help but agree, donning her armor and grabbing her staff from where it lives in her office.

Aoife trots at her side and Nathaniel strides behind her, protective and fierce. She asks Anders to come, but he wants to stay behind.

_ Anders  _ doesn’t want to come with her.

She doesn’t have time to fight with him, not with Amaranthine in danger. She kisses him goodbye, hard, fingers digging into the ridiculous feathery collar he insists on wearing, and pulls Oghren and Sigrun out to come along with her and Nathaniel. They’re already out the door before Nathaniel finishes kissing Anders goodbye as well.

When the last of the darkspawn has been killed in Amaranthine and they have a moment to rest, Sophie has to make a choice she doesn’t want to make. Go back to the Vigil, save her men, and leave Amaranthine to burn… or stay and defend Amaranthine and leave the Vigil partially undefended.

She can’t leave the citizens of Amaranthine unprotected and damn them to death at the hands of the darkspawn or the flames. She can’t do it. She has to trust the Wardens to keep the Vigil.

\---

The fighting lasts forever. They sleep fitfully, still fully armored, in the chantry between waves. Sophie presses securely against Nathaniel’s side, Aoife snoring against her thigh, and prays as she slips into the Fade that  _ someone  _ out there is listening and will keep her new family safe.

Whether the Maker or Velanna’s gods or Sigrun’s ancestors… whoever is listening and willing to help, she wants them to.

She’s never wanted anything more in her life.

\---

She can’t go back  to the Vigil after Amaranthine. They have to go straight to where the Mother is hiding and take care of her. It’s… exhausting, and it’s overwhelming, and it’s all she can do to keep the tears from falling in front of everyone when she makes the decision.

Nathaniel sees her hesitation, her longing to return to the Vigil and to Anders, but he nods at her anyway. She’s making the right choice. The Vigil is full of Wardens, it’s defensible, and she has to take care of this bigger threat now.

With every step she takes away from Amaranthine toward the Mother’s lair, she hates herself. She hates this position she’s in, the position Duncan put her in when he recruited her to the Wardens, the position Alistair put her in when he made her Warden-Commander, the position Anders put her in when he refused to leave the Vigil with her.

Just like when she fought through the Circle tower to free it from demons and abominations, she lets her anger and hatred fuel her. It gives her energy to keep fighting when all she wants to do is collapse, when she wants to turn and run.

It gives her the energy she needs to send healing spell after healing spell at her companions, keeping them on their feet and fighting against the broodmother. It gives her the energy she needs to strike down the Architect, to remember that her duty is to defend Thedas against the darkspawn, not to spare them just because they can talk.

She leans heavily on Nathaniel as they begin the long walk back to the Vigil. They all push through their exhaustion, unwilling to take the time to rest even after the long fight.

They all want to make it back.

They want to see what’s become of their family.

\---

There are still darkspawn at the Vigil when they arrive. They attack from the rear, despite their bone-chilling exhaustion, and the addition of just four Wardens seems to be all the Vigil needs to turn the tide.

The darkspawn that don’t fall at the hands of the new Wardens, the Wardens still fighting from the Vigil, or under the explosives sent from Dworkin run away within hours. Sophie stands on the top of one of the nearby hills, shading her eyes from the rising sun, and watches them go. They’ll need to be hunted down, killed until they’ve pulled back completely into the Deep Roads. 

Nathaniel’s hand on the small of her back pulls her back to herself. He’s trembling with exhaustion and dehydration, but he leads her into the Vigil with a straight back and squared shoulders. She tries to match his posture, tries to act as the Warden-Commander her people expect from her, but she can barely keep her eyes open.

She checks on each of her people in turn, checking their wounds, hugging each survivor as she goes. Nathaniel helps her the whole way, though he could just retire to their shared rooms if he wanted, following Aoife’s example. It isn’t his duty to the Wardens that keeps him awake now; it’s his love for Sophie.

Justice is gone. It’s the first casualty she’s told as she walks through the doors into the Vigil’s main hall. Kristoff’s head has been severed from his body, and she immediately tells Varel to wait until Kristoff’s wife can be called in from Amaranthine to burn him. It won’t make up for having to see her husband’s reanimated corpse walking around, but it’s the least the Wardens can do for her.

Anders is nowhere to be found. The more people Sophie greets, the tighter her anxiety coils within her. No one seems to know where he is, and she asks  _ everyone.  _ The longer she looks, the angrier Nathaniel seems to be at her side, until he finally drags her to their room.

“You need to wash off the blood and  _ sleep _ ,” he says, voice low as always. “I’ll find him while you’re resting.”

She wants to argue, but she doesn’t have the energy. She’s fully prepared to lay down on her bed in just her armor and sleep on top of the covers, but the folded piece of paper waiting for her on her pillow distracts her from her goal.

_ My loves, I don’t know what will happen in this battle. I don’t know if we’ll all make it to the other side of this alive. I would say with the Maker’s blessing, but we all know the Maker has not been kind to us. _ __  
__  
_ Even if we all survive, things won’t stay the same. Sophie is the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. She’ll be called to Weisshaupt, and they won’t look kindly on her bringing her two lovers with her. _ __  
__  
_ Commanders are supposed to be above such things. Mistress Woolsey told me. I think she’s been writing letters to them, keeping her apprised of our activities. _ __  
__  
_ As much as I want to stay with both of you, I know I can’t. I’ve never wanted to be trapped, and--despite the love I have for both of you--the Wardens have become little better than the Circle. I have friends outside of Ferelden that need my help, and I can no longer ignore their plight. _ __  
__  
_ Take care of Pounce for me. Don’t let Woolsey give him away. _ __  
__  
_ I love you. Both of you. More than I thought I ever could. Don’t try to find me. I’ll return when I can. _ __  
__  
_ Don’t forget me. _ __  
_  
_ __ Anders.

“He’s going for Karl.” Sophie passes the note to Nathaniel and drops back onto the bed so that she’s stretched across it lengthwise. She doesn’t bother taking off her armor or unlacing her boots; she just throws one arm across her eyes and lets the tears start to fall.

Nathaniel is silent as he reads the note, then the mattress dips next to her as he lays next to her. He reaches out to her, pulling her body against his, and she melts against him with a strangled sob.

They lay together as her tears burn down her cheeks, leaving her shaking and empty and even more exhausted than she was before. Nathaniel’s hand rub soothing circles on her back even as his own tears slip from his eyes and fall unheeded down his face. 

When Sophie speaks again, her voice is a quiet waver. “Why won’t anyone stay with me?”

Nathaniel shifts her until he can see her face, though she still won’t meet his gaze. “What?”

Her eyes squeeze even tighter, and he fights to hold her still as she tries to curl into a ball against his chest. Exhaustion and heartbreak combine until each is worse for the other, and her voice is high-pitched and breaking when she says, “Everyone I love leaves me.”

She remembers Cullen, turning away from her as she was being conscripted, railing against her after she saved the Circle from Uldred. She remembers Alistair, turning her away before she could fully learn to love him. She remembers seeing Anders for the first time after two years in the Vigil, how happy he had been, and now… 

Her sobs are loud, echoing around the room, and Nathaniel finally lets her curl against her chest. His arms clutch at her, his fingers dig into her back through her armor, desperate to hold her as close as possible.

“I’m still here,” he whispers, a promise against her skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She pulls him tighter, desperate, sucking in deep breaths to help herself calm. If Anders had left at any other time…

“I love you, Sophie. I will not leave you.” 

She sniffs and wipes at her face before pulling herself up to meet his gaze. “Nate?”

He reaches up and smooths her hair away from her face, ignoring the sweat and blood that make the strands stick together. “Sophie.”

She bites at her lip, teeth toying at her flesh before she speaks. “Say that again?” Her voice is small, quiet, nothing like the loud sobs that had been escaping her just moments before.

He smiles, softly, and repeats the words he’s been feeling for weeks. “I love you, Sophie Amell. I’m not going to leave you. I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.” He runs his fingers down her arm to her hand, linking their fingers together. 

She smiles then, the first one he’s seen in days, since before they left the Vigil. It’s small, but it’s there, and it makes her eyes light up even though her tears. She kisses him, softly, lips just brushing against his. “I love you, Nate. I love you.”


	4. The Calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. There are TWO instances of miscarriage in this chapter. Nothing graphic and nothing explicit, but they are there. I put both of them between asterisks *** instead of dashes --- so you can skip them as appropriate. Don't make yourself sad.

With the darkspawn threat finally,  _ finally  _ gone, Amaranthine can begin to rebuild. Funds are tight in the arling, but Woolsey and Varel make it work with Sophie and Nathaniel’s suggestions.

Nathaniel was raised to be the arl, after all. He knows a few things about keeping Amaranthine running smoothly.

Delilah has her son in the spring, a little boy with blonde hair like his father and Nathaniel’s gray eyes. Nathaniel is afraid to hold him almost, sitting very still and staring down at the infant like he might break. Sophie pretends that she doesn’t see when he has to brush tears from his eyes.

The Vigil recovers slowly. The Wardens that helped it through the months after the Blight slowly return to their own lives, deserting the Order when it becomes clear that their expertise is no longer needed. Velanna returns to the forest to find her family again. Left alone, Sigrun disappears back into the Deep Roads, ready to rejoin the Legion and help lead them to the darkspawn.

It becomes quiet, the days blending together even as the seasons start to change. None of their contacts know where Anders has run off to, and gradually his absence hurts less and less. Sometimes Sophie will want to reach out for him, to tell him something funny, only to remember again that he’s gone.

She still has Ser Pounce, who sleeps curled up against Aoife’s side every night. And she still has Nathaniel, who sleeps curled up against  _ her  _ side every night. He moves into her rooms completely, all pretense of professionalism forgotten in the face of his desire to have her in his arms every night.

He finds that he enjoys the domesticity of their evenings, of being able to eat dinner together and relax in front of a fire without having to worry about darkspawn attacking the Vigil from the Deep Roads underneath or a nearby nesting ground. He likes spending the day in Amaranthine with her visiting his sister, playing with his nephew. He likes seeing Sophie cuddle the baby, so much bigger each time they see him, kissing his chubby cheeks and making silly faces until he laughs.

When Delilah pulls him aside one day before they leave, a secret smile on her face, and presses a little box into his hands with the words, “Mama would want you to have this,” he realizes what he should have months ago.

\---

“Happy Satinalia.”

Sophie’s eyes blink open slowly, and she turns toward the sleep-roughened voice by instinct. She reaches out for him with one arm, stretching until he grabs her hand and pulls it to his chest. She grins and moves closer until her head is tucked under his chin, and she immediately begins dropping back to sleep.

“Sophie…” his voice is a little sing-song that he only uses when he’s in a particularly good mood, and it makes her smile even as she groans her irritation with being woken. He chuckles a little. “Did you forget again?”

She had, actually, forgotten, but she just shrugs instead of admitting that to him. There’s no reason for her to remember every little holiday, not with Varel in charge of feast preparations. Nathaniel had woken her last year too, her and Anders together, and given them matching protection runes on long silverite chains. She still wears hers, though there’s no telling what Anders has done with his. She snuggles a little closer to push the memory away.

“If you wake up, I’ll give you your present and then get us breakfast to eat in bed.” His fingers tease up and down her back, then slip under her nightgown to tickle against her bare back. She giggles and shifts in his arms, but doesn’t pull away.

Finally she sighs a little. “I’m awake; I’m awake. Quit that.”

He releases her and rolls to grab something off of his bedside table. She props herself up on one elbow and waits for him, pushing her curls away from her face as she does.

He turns back with something clutched in his hand and takes a deep breath before speaking.

“You know I love you, right?” Sophie narrows her eyes at him, suspicious, but nods. Nathaniel continues, face softening as he speaks, each word deliberately chosen. “I never thought I would find someone I love so much, nevermind under these circumstances.” The thumb of his free hand strokes across her cheek as it floods with heat. “Despite everything we’ve been through, I’ve never been happier, and I don’t want this to end.”

He falls silent and looks down toward his still-clasped hand resting between them. Sophie looks too and sits up all the way when she sees the ring resting in his palm. She leans away from him as he sits up too, hands covering her mouth.

Nathaniel’s face is serious as he reaches out for her left hand. He pulls it to his mouth to press a kiss against her knuckles before he slides the ring on her finger. It’s loose on her little hand--the jeweler in Amaranthine will have to take a look at it--but she snaps her attention back to Nathaniel as he starts to speak again.

“You mean more to me than anything else, and I want to make sure you know I want to be here with you forever. Sophie Amell, will you marry me?” He folds her fingers into a fist to keep the ring from sliding off, and she stares down at it with her lips slightly parted.

Silence stretches between them as Sophie stares down at a ring she never thought she’d have, given to her by a man she never thought she’d meet, and she can’t make her mouth work.

“Sophie?” Nathaniel squeezes her hand, and when she finally looks up at him she sees his eyebrows starting to draw together.

“I, oh, we can’t!” The words fall from her lips before she fully considers them, and Nathaniel’s fingers tighten on hers in his shock. She shakes her head, quickly, curls bouncing. “I--we--no!” She clutches at Nathaniel’s fingers when he starts to pull away, holding him still with eyes growing wild. “No one is going to marry us,” she finally forces out. “I’m a  _ mage. _ I’m not  _ allowed. _ ”

Nathaniel’s expression shifts from hurt to a moment of extreme anger to irritated resignation before he reaches up to tangle his fingers in her curls. He pulls her face to his and presses his lips first to her forehead and then to her lips, lingering for a long moment before sighing.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally murmurs, resting his forehead against hers. “I would be your husband regardless of what the Chantry says. I’ve never cared about the Chantry.”

Sophie’s laugh is a little watery, but she nods anyway and pulls away to look back down at the ring. “Okay. Okay. Yes.” She looks up at Nathaniel and pauses as he wipes away the tear that’s escaped. “My husband.”

He chuckles, the sound a low rumble from his chest. “My wife,” he says, and he closes the distance between them again for another kiss.

\---

_ Warden-Commander, _

_ Levi told me of your promotion. Some of my more recent experiments have borne some fruit, but I don’t have enough supplies to continue research at this time. Levi has agreed to make the journey to Amaranthine once more for me.  _

_ If you’re able, the library at Weisshaupt Fortress has some tomes that would help me immensely. I’ll provide a list with Levi. _

_ Write quickly. We are all running out of time. _

_ A _

_ \--- _

_ Lady Sophie Amell, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, _

_ The formal announcement will be made soon, but I wanted to let you know that I’m getting married. We finalized the contract this afternoon, and I wanted you to hear it from me. _

_ You remember Rendon Howe? You took over the arling from him after we killed him in Denerim. He arranged for the murder of the Couslands, back before we met in Ostagar, but both of their children survived. Fergus Cousland is now Teyrn of Highever, and his younger sister Ophelia is my betrothed. _

_ That still seems strange to say, but it’s the truth. The country needs a queen and an heir or two, and I am here to serve Ferelden. _

_ I hope you’ve found happiness in Amaranthine. _

_ His Royal Highness, Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden _

_ \--- _

“I got a letter from the First Warden,” Sophie says, flopping face down onto the bed next to Nathaniel. 

He barely glances up from his book. “Did you?” He turns a page and Sophie glares up at him at the sound, but her expression holds no heat. She curls onto her side and nods, then closes her eyes for a long moment before speaking again.

“They want me in Weisshaupt.”

This does catch Nathaniel’s attention, and he closes the book before turning to look at her fully. She keeps her eyes closed, a frown on her face, and he reaches down to brush a curl away from her forehead. “Why? Just you?”

She shrugs and opens one eye to peer up at him. “Didn’t say. Just  _ we need your assistance _ . Insufferably vague. Wardens do love their secrets.”

Nathaniel hums in acknowledgment, still looking down at her. “When are you going?”

_ When  _ he asks. Not  _ if.  _ She sighs and sits up, moving closer to wrap her arms around him and rest her head on his chest. He returns the embrace and strokes at her hair that’s been in need of a trim for months.

“ _ We _ can leave as soon as  _ we’re  _ ready,” she says, voice sound simultaneously commanding and a little petulant, and the combination makes Nathaniel grin. “I wasn’t exactly planning on leaving you behind. Varel can take care of everything. He has for years.”

Nathaniel hums again but doesn’t speak, going over the trip in his mind, already starting to puzzle out the specifics to form a plan for traveling to the other side of Thedas. What they’ll need to bring, who should stay behind in case of emergency in the arling, and it’s only after several minutes of silence that he realizes Sophie’s fallen asleep in his arms, completely unconcerned.

She’s traveled across Ferelden before, after all. The last time on foot, in the middle of winter with almost no experience defending herself. Traveling to Weisshaupt with him must seem easy in comparison.

***

A few days before they’re scheduled to board a ship from Amaranthine to Cumberland, where they’ll take the Imperial Highway as far as they can into the Anderfels, Nathaniel finds Sophie softly crying in their room, perched on the edge of their bed with her head in her hands.

He freezes at the door for a moment, hand still on the knob as though he’s not sure he should interrupt, but quickly shakes the thought off and moves to kneel in front of her. He puts his hands on her thighs and rubs soothing circles, squeezing at the firm muscle to pull her attention to him.

She wipes her face as soon as she realizes he’s there, cheeks turning pink under the freckles he loves so much, and her jaw works as she searches for something to say to pretend that she hadn’t just been crying all alone. She takes a deep breath and opens her mouth to speak before giving up to sigh instead.

Nathaniel has to speak first. “What happened?”

Her blush deepens a little and she shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.” Nathaniel raises his eyebrows slowly so she’ll know he doesn’t believe her, and after a moment she tries again, speaking more slowly this time as though she’d weighing each word before it passes her lips. “I started my cycle today. A few minutes ago.”

“Oh,” is Nathaniel’s reply, and he wrinkles his forehead as he tries to parse what about this event would cause her tears. She’s biting at her lower lip and her eyes keep darting away from his like she’s embarrassed, but they’ve been together for four years. This shouldn’t embarrass her. “Are you… in pain?”

She shakes her head once, quickly, and squirms out of his grasp. He lets her stand, but follows her, grabbing her hand before she can leave. She makes a little whine of annoyance, but lets him hold her in place. “It was supposed to come a few weeks ago, so I thought… it doesn’t matter.”

Now she won’t look at him, so she doesn’t see the pained look that flickers across Nathaniel’s face, the way his lips turn down at the corners and his forehead creases. “I didn’t know you wanted…” after her tears, he can’t bring himself to say the word.

She still doesn’t look at him.

“I didn’t either. Before…” she sighs a little and tugs at his grip, but he tightens his fingers and holds her still. “It doesn’t matter. Grey Wardens can’t… it doesn’t matter.”

When she tries to pull away again, he lets her, and stands with hands fisted at his sides as she disappears down the hallway.

***

Sophie’s never been on a ship before, and the journey down the Waking Sea to Cumberland leaves her lying very still in their cabin, praying for a swift death, while Nathaniel spends his time walking the deck, making friends with the sailors, and generally having a much better time than she is. At night, he joins her, and gently plays with her hair, trying to chase away her seasickness and lingering sadness.

It works as well as it can, and by the time they reach land again, she’s smiling and laughing as easily as she had before.

Their journey through Nevarra and along the border of Tevinter on the Imperial Highway is easier than either of them expected, though it still takes weeks. Nathaniel enjoys this time they have together, just the two of them, without the added pressure of the arling or the Wardens. They never took a honeymoon after their impromptu wedding, and this is likely as close as they’ll ever get.

Sophie writes to the arling occasionally, just checking in and letting Varel know that they’re both still alive and well. She posts the letters and the inns where they stay in the larger cities, generally choosing to camp along the highway if they don’t have anywhere to rent a room.

“It’s like we’re fighting the Blight all over again,” she says, and the soft way she smiles at him makes him think that’s a good thing. When she cuddles close to him in their shared bedroll and lets her hand slip below the waist of his sleeping pants, he  _ knows _ that’s a good thing.

\---

Weisshaupt is… it’s not what Sophie was picturing. It’s large, and it’s cold, and there are hardly any Wardens there. One comes out to greet them with a bright smile and wide eyes, and excitedly shakes Sophie’s hand, and doesn’t stop talking about how long she’s been waiting for this day.

Sophie thinks it’s adorable. Nathaniel is less pleased, but he manages to keep his irritation to himself until the young Warden shows them to their rooms. He promptly leaves his to join Sophie in hers, dragging his bag with him, and they help each other bathe before meeting the senior Wardens.

It feels very domestic. It feels like home, like they’ve always done this, and it’s easy to pretend that they’re still in Amaranthine and not halfway across the world, facing who-knows-what from their commanding officers.

Sophie tightens her fingers around Nathaniel’s as they walk down the hall after their young guide. As long as they don’t separate them, she doesn’t care what the First Warden has to say.

\---

A new thaig has been found under the Free Marches. Rumors of a new form of lyrium are circling. Darkspawn are still moving above ground in Nevarra. New recruits are needed, though not so many as there are during a Blight.

It would have been easy enough to put these things in a letter, or send a single messenger to Amaranthine to tell them. Having Sophie leave Ferelden and go all the way to Weisshaupt seems… excessive, almost, but she isn’t going to complain. She has a few days to rest and explore before they have to go to Kirkwall to explore the Deep Roads there before they’ll be allowed to go home.

None of the senior Wardens said anything about the rings on their fingers or the way they sat too close together. The Warden-Chamberlain actually winked at her when she noticed, but Sophie isn’t going to complain about that either. She wasn’t sure whether or not they were breaking the rules of the Order when they began  _ fraternizing  _ or when they pledged themselves to each other three years ago, but she had no intention of asking either. She’s pleased to see that there won’t be a punishment now.

\---

Nathaniel sleeps in their rooms, still exhausted from their travels, and Sophie busies herself in the library. It’s the biggest one she’s ever seen by far, and she’s almost overwhelmed before she remembers Avernus’ note that she still has clutched in her pocket.

She finds the books she needs one at a time, meticulously taking notes for Avernus. She doesn’t understand many of the things she reads--healing has never been her specialty, and she knows little of the taint beyond what she learned from the Joining--but she does the best she can.

It isn’t only her future that depends on what she finds here. It’s the future of her relationship with Nathaniel, their lives, Alistair’s life, even possibly the future of Ferelden if he can’t produce an heir.

That’s the thought that makes her lip curl in irritation, but she pushes it away. It’s been years now. She should be happy that he found someone he’s willing to marry.

She should write to him. Tell him she’s happy for him, and that she only wishes the best for him and his new queen. She never responded to his last letter, or to the fat letter she received later that she assumed was a wedding invitation and thus didn’t open.

She pushes away the guilt and resumes her research.

\---

Something is going on with the senior Wardens. Things are somehow quieter now than they were when Sophie and Nathaniel first arrived, more tense, and it’s affecting them both. Some of the Warden recruits have disappeared, and Sophie doesn’t know where they’ve gone, and Nathaniel can’t get answers out of everyone either.

It’s… eerie, and it’s uncomfortable, and Sophie and Nathaniel slip away as soon as they can.

Their last writing with Varel has shown he has the arling well under control, but the Wardens have mostly all abandoned their posts. Some have moved to other posts, particularly in the Free Marches and Orlais, but it’s no longer the Warden outpost it used to be. Sophie and Nathaniel need to come home, he says, and they split up according to their orders.

They take another ship from Cumberland, and Nathaniel disembarks in Kirkwall while Sophie stays and returns to Amaranthine.

\---

Nathaniel stays in Kirkwall longer than they planned. Sophie receives a letter in Amaranthine before he goes into the Deep Roads, but then she hears nothing else for _months_. Every day that passes without word from him makes her irritable and anxious, and she spends her days training in the yard, writing letters to Avernus, and visiting Delilah to spend time with her and the babies.

Thomas is running around now, happy as could be with his little toy sword and stuffed griffin. A baby girl followed him, sooner than anyone was expecting, and Eliane toddles along holding onto Sophie’s fingers whenever the mage visits.

The way the children accept her as a whole person, loving her despite--or perhaps because of--her magic makes her cry when she thinks about it alone in the Vigil. When she’s with Delilah and the children, she just laughs and plays and makes little mage lights for the kids to chase, and lets Delilah play with her hair when she can’t stop worrying about Nathaniel.

Sophie doesn’t hear anything from Nathaniel for  months _ ,  _ nothing from any of the other Wardens he was supposed to be with either, and most communication has ceased coming from Weisshaupt too. She whispers her concerns to Delilah one evening after too much wine, and then Delilah disappears too.

\---

It only takes three weeks before Delilah returns to the Vigil on horseback, Nathaniel in tow. She stands back and watches with a soft little smile as Sophie forgets who she’s supposed to be and runs across the courtyard to jump into Nathaniel’s arms.

They clutch each other as though afraid one of them would disappear again, fingers digging into armor and skin. Sophie cries unashamedly into Nathaniel’s shoulder, not noticing when a few tears drip from his chin into her curls, and Delilah slips away to return to her own family.

“What happened?” Sophie pulls away only enough to look into Nathaniel’s eyes as she speaks, and he reaches up to wipe at her damp face with his thumb.

Nathaniel shakes his head and pulls Sophie against his chest again, tucking her head under his chin. They stand very still, just breathing together, and Sophie begins to cry again when she feels how hard he’s trembling.

***

It happens again after Nathaniel is in the Vigil for a few months. A course missed, another late, and then the bleeding begins once more.

This time she tells Nathaniel and allows him to get a healer, who confirms what she already knew, already felt in her heart. A life lost before it could truly begin, and Sophie waits until she’s alone again to cry.

The taint took everything from her, and now it’s taking more. The only good things to come from her conscription into the Wardens were that she wasn’t in the Circle when Uldred took it over… and Nathaniel.

Nathaniel who sits with her, staying awake even when she can’t sleep until the sun starts to make the room light again. Nathaniel who brings her tea and plays with her hair, not speaking, just being a strong and silent support.

If Sophie believed in the Maker after all this, after everything that’s happened in the seven-odd years since she was conscripted, she would say Nathaniel is Maker-sent.

But she doesn’t, so she just wraps her arms around him and cries into his shirt.

***

“Did you hear?”

Sophie looks blearily over the letter in her hand to see Nathaniel’s wild eyes at her door. Aoife raises her head too, disrupting Ser Pounce who makes a disgruntled  _ brrp  _ noise before curling back around himself and going back to sleep.

“What?” her voice is a little snappish, betraying her lack of sleep and the headache playing behind her eyes. 

Nathaniel doesn’t notice. “There was an explosion in Kirkwall. Their Chantry is gone. The Gallows--the Circle there?--it  _ fell. _ ” He’s talking fast now, moving closer, and Sophie stands slowly to watch him. “The Knight-Commander tried to annul the Circle, she tried to kill  _ everyone,  _ not just the mages.”

“Why would she do that?” Sophie interrupts, cold dread pooling in her stomach at the word  _ annul.  _ “What does one have to do with the other?”

Nathaniel pauses, gray eyes sharpening to assess her, then he circles the desk to put his hands on her arms, holding her still. “It was Anders.”

Anders’ name is like a punch to Sophie’s gut. She exhales sharply and lists forward, and it’s only Nathaniel’s hands on her that keeps her upright. “Anders? What was Anders?”

“Anders blew up the chantry.” Nathaniel whispers the words like they hurt to say, and his jaw tightens at the same time that his fingers begin to dig into her skin. “It was  _ Anders. _ ”

“He was in Kirkwall?” she squeaks. Aoife stands and releases a low, threatening growl. “He was in Kirkwall the  _ whole fucking time _ ?” She takes a step back, breaking Nathaniel’s hold on her and running into her desk at the same time. “Nathaniel, you were in Kirkwall for  _ months _ .”

He swallows hard and hangs his head. “I know,” he breathes, and Sophie sits down hard. Aoife comes to stand between them, pushing Nathaniel a step back on her way. 

“Did you know he was there?” Nathaniel doesn’t answer, so Sophie slams her palm down on the desk and Aoife barks quietly, just enough to let Nathaniel know that he should  _ really  _ answer the question. “Did you see him when you were there?”

Nathaniel sets his jaw and lifts his chin, meeting her eyes. “He was with Hawke when they found me in the Deep Roads. We didn’t speak.”

Sophie’s voice breaks. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Nathaniel takes a step closer, but Aoife growls again to pin him in place.

“He didn’t want to speak to me. He… ran away, almost.” Nathaniel shifts from foot to foot as Sophie covers her face with her hands. She takes a shuddering breath, then another, then finally she reaches out and pats Aoife’s head.

The mabari sighs, eyes Nathaniel suspiciously, then stretches before leaving the room.

“And then he blew up the chantry.”

Nathaniel nods, holding one hand out for her. She takes it and lets him pull her to her feet and against his chest so he can wrap her in a tight embrace. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

She ignores it. “Could we have done something?” she asked. “Could we have brought him back?”

Nathaniel kisses the top of her head. “I don’t think we could have done anything,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

\---

Varel is the one who notices it. He keeps glancing from Nathaniel to Sophie and back, his face twisting into a more and more confused expression until he finally says, “What are you humming?”

The humming immediately ceases as they stare at him.

Sophie speaks first. “What?”

Varel sighs and rubs at the spot between his brows he always seems to rub when he has to speak to the arlessa. “You’re both  _ humming _ something,” he says, voice purposefully calm. “You’ve been humming it for days now.”

Sophie and Nathaniel exchange a glance, but only Sophie’s face drains of color. 

They’re both hearing the  _ same song. _

\---

“I wondered when you would come.” Avernus is positively decrepit, hunched over and more wrinkled and more… corpse-like than he was when Sophie saw him last. She offers him a handshake anyway, and Nathaniel follows her lead though he looks a little green when he touches the old Warden’s papery skin.

Avernus turns and shuffles through the empty keep, waving for Sophie and Nathaniel to follow him.

“I believe I have a cure,” he says, and Sophie’s hand reaches out to grab Nathaniel’s. “I need more time to ensure there are no problems with the formula. I assume you will both will help?”

Sophie squeezes Nathaniel’s hand, and he’s already nodding when she turns to look at him. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

Avernus smiles, pushing through a decaying door to enter his laboratory. “Good,” he creaks, and Sophie has to suppress a shiver at the sound of his voice. “In that case, I need more Wardens.”

\---

This is when being a better Warden-Commander would come in handy. Sophie doesn’t know where  _ any  _ Wardens are anymore. She knows Alistair is in the capitol--but she doesn’t want to involve him until she knows for sure what’s going on.

She writes to him, posts it from one of the smaller towns, but she doesn’t say much.

_ The song is false, _ she says.  _ Nate and I are with Avernus. Do not come.  _ She hasn’t said anything else to him in years. They haven’t spoken in person since she conscripted Anders. She hasn’t written him a letter since he married.

But she won’t have him thinking that he’s dying just when he’s finally found the family he’s always wanted.

She moves through Ferelden with only Aoife at her side, skirts the Frostback Mountains to get to Orlais. She goes through Halamshiral on her way to Lydes, searching for one of the Warden outposts, praying that they won’t have abandoned that as well.

What she finds is worse.

All of the Wardens there--all five of them--are hearing the Calling too. Everyone else has gone ahead to meet with the Orlesian Warden-Commander in preparation to kill the Old Gods once and for all. There’s a Tevinter mage, apparently, one whose only wish is to help the Wardens, who has a plan to strengthen the Wardens so they can storm the Deep Roads and kill the remaining Old Gods.

It’s  _ madness. _

Sophie leaves Orlais with Aoife leading the way.

\---

Safely back in Ferelden, Sophie rents a little room in a tavern and writes letters with Aoife snoring at her feet. She writes to Nathaniel, to Avernus, to Alistair, to Weisshaupt. Everyone needs to know what the Wardens are doing, and she doesn’t want to be found before they’re stopped.

She leaves the letters with the innkeeper’s wife to post, and stops as the woman excitedly tells her all about how Divine Justinia is going to “put them mages in their place” after the Conclave in a few weeks, and how they’ll be punished for what happened in Kirkwall.

“They should be ashamed of theirselves,” she says, and Sophie pretends to nod understandingly before she leaves.

\---

“Sophie.”

Sophie nearly jumps out of her skin when she hears the voice. She still dreams of it sometimes, but this is the first time she’s heard it in real life. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she freezes before she turns around.

Aoife abandons Sophie without hesitation, bounding over to greet the king. Sophie turns very slowly to watch, smiling slightly as Aoife hesitates to do her little mabari bow before closing the rest of the distance to let Alistair pet her.

He kneels down so he can be at her eye level and buries his hands in her short fur, scratching thoroughly behind ears and down her chest. He kisses the gray hairs that cover her muzzle, and she licks his face right back.

He laughs, and Sophie takes a step closer to him.

“What are you doing here?” her voice sounds harder than she meant it, but she’s tired and she’s surprised and Aoife has abandoned her to stand by herself. 

Alistair gives Aoife one final, loving scratch before he stands. He looks… regal. It’s been nine years, and it’s only served to make him more handsome. He’s filled out a little, grown his beard out a little more than he ever had when they were traveling together, and he’s wearing fine clothes that are cut very well to show off his strength that hasn’t diminished.

“I got your letters,” he says, and takes a step closer. He lifts one hand like he might pull her in for a hug, but he drops it before he can. “The Calling, it…” he scrubs his hand over his face. “I can’t live like this, Soph.”

Sophie takes a step closer to him, her heart clenching in her chest. Then she takes another, and another, and then they’re embracing. The song has been chasing her across Ferelden and back, keeping her awake more than she should be, and she can’t stop the tears that fall when she feels Alistair’s arms around her again.

Alistair doesn’t try to stop his tears either. He releases everything he’s been holding in, everything he’s been trying to be  _ too strong  _ to feel.

They stand in each other’s arms for several minutes with Aoife resting her comforting weight against their legs. When they finally calm, Sophie steps away first and wipes at her eyes.

“Why are you  _ here _ , though?” she asks, finally coming to her senses enough to remember her first reaction. “I told you to stay in the palace.”

Alistair shuffles a little, wiping at his own face before tugging at the reddish beard on his chin. He coughs. “Lia’s pregnant,” he says, and Sophie feels her whole body tense before she really hears his words. “Six months. This is the longest she’s…” he stops, his voice choking off as new tears threaten him. He clears his throat again. “I can’t let our child grow up without a father. If there’s a cure to be found, I have to help.”

Sophie bites her tongue against the tears, lets the sharp pain distract her even as she reaches out to rub Aoife’s head. “Okay. I understand. Have you been here long? Where’s Nate?”

Alistair’s face falls and he holds out his hand to her. “Come with me.”

\---

It looks like Nathaniel is asleep. Breaths still make his chest rise and fall, his eyes move behind closed lids, and when Sophie checks his heart it feels strong inside his chest.

But he won’t wake.

“He tested the cure for me,” Alistair says, wringing his hands together the way he used to when he and Sophie traveled together and he was feeling particularly anxious about something. “I told him not to, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s more stubborn than you are.”

Sophie laughs, a tiny, watery thing, and leans forward to press a kiss to Nathaniel’s forehead. His skin is cool to the touch, but not unnaturally so. She tries to send a healing spell into him, but her magic is too shaky, her spirit magic too weak to do anything more than let her know he’s still alive.

They need a spirit healer, and the thought makes her start to cry in earnest.

They need Anders.

“He’s been unconscious for two, or three days? Avernus thinks he’ll wake up soon. Please don’t cry. He’s going to be okay. Don't cry, Soph.” Alistair scoots a little closer to Sophie, moving hesitantly. He glances between where Aoife is resting by Nathaniel’s feet and where Sophie has her face still pressed against Nathaniel’s forehead, and settles next to her. He rubs a soothing hand over Sophie’s back as her sobs grow.

“Why didn’t he wait for me?” she demands, voice muffled in Nathaniel’s pillow. “He should have waited.”

Alistair squeezes her shoulder. “He knew you would have told him not to.”

“Well he was damn right,” she says, and then miraculously she lifts up her head and laughs. Alistair smiles a little crookedly, waiting for her to explain, and Aoife just sighs and flops onto her side.

Sophie doesn’t even look at Alistair. “You should go back to Denerim,” she says, and he immediately pulls his hand away from her back. “The queen needs you. Ferelden needs you. Something’s going on with the Wardens, and someone needs to be around to handle it.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll stay here, help Avernus. When the cure is ready, I’ll bring it to you personally.” She turns to Alistair then and reaches out one hand. He takes it without hesitation, eyes going soft around the edges, and she smiles at him. “I won’t let you suffer for one moment longer than necessary,” she promises, “but you can’t hide here.”

Alistair sighs a laugh. “You never would let me hide from the throne,” he says, and Sophie laughs with him this time.

They sit in silence, fingers still entwined, and wait for the sun to rise.

\---

Alistair is already back in Denerim when Nathaniel finally wakes. He does so slowly, stretching and yawning like he’d taken a nap rather than been unconscious for a week, and smiles when he sees Sophie’s stricken expression.

“You asshole,” she says, and Nathaniel bursts into laughter. She flings herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his hair. “You  _ fucker. _ ”

He’s still laughing, but he wraps his arms around her and squeezes her tight against his chest. “I love you,” he says, voice dry.

Sophie sniffs. “I love you too. Do  _ not  _ do that again.”

He smooths a hand over her curls. “I promise.”

Her fingers tighten on him and she presses herself even closer. “You said you wouldn’t leave me.”

Nathaniel’s next breath catches in his throat. “And I won’t. I’ll always be here.”

Sophie sniffs. “Good.”

\---

Nathaniel’s feedback helps Avernus make changes to the cure. Just a few tweaks, designed to pull the taint out a little faster without becoming too painful or moving quickly enough to cause harm to the Warden.

It takes a few more weeks--Avernus is methodical to a fault, and time doesn’t seem to mean the same thing to him as it does to Sophie and Nathaniel--but when the cure is finally ready, Sophie takes it.

She sits with Nathaniel on their bed, fingers entwined, with Aoife and Avernus watching closely, and she downs the potion in one long swallow.

She gags. It's thick, oily, and it feels like it’s still in her mouth as she swallows again and again. Nathaniel squeezes her hand and murmurs nonsense words to keep her calm, and she shudders with her whole body.

Her hands shake, her teeth chatter, pain spears her gut and then travels through her veins to every part of her body. She curls in on herself, an inhuman wail rising from her mouth that has Aoife howling in response.

Nathaniel casts a wide-eyed, helpless look at Avernus, who doesn’t react. 

“You did the same,” he says. “It will pass.”

But it doesn’t feel like it will.

\---

In the end, Sophie is unconscious longer than Nathaniel was. Nathaniel is angry--at Avernus for being wrong, at himself for letting her take the untested potion, at Sophie for conscripting him, at Duncan for conscripting  _ her-- _ and he paces relentlessly.

Though the cure was improved, the taint was greater in Sophie than in Nathaniel. She fought in the Blight; she delivered the killing blow to the archdemon. She would have felt her true Calling in a few short years, and it was only luck that drove them to Avernus in time.

But it doesn’t feel like luck when Sophie lays in bed and Nathaniel can do nothing to help.

When she finally wakes, it’s Aoife who notices first. The mabari, asleep on the floor by her mistress’ side, lifts her head to sniff the air before letting out a joyful bark and leaping onto the bed. She does her best to avoid Sophie’s body, now weak from fighting off the taint, but she can’t help but cover Sophie’s face in slobbery kisses.

Sophie sputters before she realizes what’s happening, and she wraps her arms around Aoife’s neck to pull the warhound down on top of her. Aoife collapses with a huff, happy to cuddle Sophie without having to worry about Nathaniel or Ser Pounce. It’s like it was when they first became friends, and Sophie and Aoife both feel a surge of joy at the realization.

Then Nathaniel is there, on the bed with them too, and Aoife gives the man room to greet Sophie too. His kisses are dryer but no less enthusiastic, kissing Sophie despite Aoife’s drool still on her face.

Aoife decides to give them some privacy and wanders off to find Avernus to make sure the taint is truly gone.

\---

They take the directions for making the potion along with two doses with them when they leave Soldier’s Peak. Nathaniel finally relaxes when they get outside the gates, but as they descend the mountain and get an unobstructed view of the sky…

Aoife barks at the green scar in the sky. It seems to shimmer when they stare at it, moving as though alive. Sophie shivers and the hairs on Aoife’s back stand up.

“What is it?” Nathaniel breathes.

Sophie shakes her head. “I don’t even want to guess. Let’s get to Denerim. Alistair will know.”

\---

Alistair does know, but he’s furious about it. Sophie and Nathaniel stand in his throne room, hoods still hiding their identities, as he tells them everything they missed while convalescing in Soldier’s Peak.

The Divine Conclave, the explosion, the Breach, the rebel mages taking up residence in and then  _ selling  _ Redcliffe to Tevinter, the Inquisition sealing the Breach with the mages’ help, the attack on Haven, their new home in Skyhold.

“And now,” Alistair huffs, running his fingers through his hair and making the ginger locks stand on end, “the Inquisition is asking for my support when they march on Adamant Fortress. The Wardens are raising a demon army and  _ that  _ puts  _ them  _ in the service of Corypheus too!”

“I knew there was something wrong with the Warden’s plan,” Sophie says, and she pushes her hood back so she can run her fingers through her hair too, nails scratching at her scalp. “We brought the cure, Alistair, and directions to make more. We can help.”

Alistair shakes his head. “I don’t want either of you anywhere near Adamant,” he snaps, and Sophie raises her eyebrows. “We need good Wardens left to help rebuild the Order after this all goes to the Void.”

“We’re not Wardens anymore,” Sophie starts, but the sharp wail of an infant stops her cold.

Everyone turns to look in the direction the cry is coming from. It seems to be growing louder until one of the rear doors of the throne room creaks open and a woman steps through, bouncing a baby against one shoulder.

“Someone wants to see her papa--” the woman starts, and then freezes when she sees Alistair isn’t alone.

His face breaks into a smile that only deepens the new lines around his eyes. “Li,” he says, holding out one hand to her. She squares her shoulders and crosses the room, letting Alistair pull her against his side. The baby is still crying, but stops when Alistair reaches out to stroke her cheek. “This is Sophie Amell and her husband, Nathaniel Howe. Sophie, Nate, this is my wife. Ophelia Cousland.”

Sophie and Nathaniel both bow, and Ophelia blushes bright red. Despite her obvious embarrassment, her voice is calm when she says, “It’s an honor to meet you both. I apologize for interrupting, I didn’t realize--”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Sophie says immediately, holding up a hand to stop any more apologies. It isn’t how she should speak to her queen, but Ophelia’s smile only grows. “This is the new princess?"

Alistair beams and takes the baby from Ophelia, turning very carefully so that Sophie and Nathaniel can see. “Princess Elodie Rowena Theirin,” he says, and his face is so full of unbridled joy that Sophie has to bite her tongue to keep the tears from coming to her eyes. “El, meet your godmother.”

“Oh!” Sophie releases a surprised squeak, one hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Really? Me?”

Ophelia and Alistair exchange a smile before the queen turns to Sophie. “Of course,” she says. “Would you like to hold her?”

Sophie nods and holds out her arms before the question is finished, and Alistair passes Elodie over with the same carefulness he showed before. Sophie cradles the little baby in her arms, grinning at her chubby cheeks and thin dark hair. Elodie opens her eyes to study her godmother, gives an unimpressed yawn, and shoves one fist into her mouth before falling back to sleep.

“Oh, Nate,” Sophie murmurs, and Nathaniel rubs a hand over her back before kissing the top of her head. Sophie blinks away her tears before looking back up at the king and queen. “She’s perfect.”

Alistair beams. “She really is.”

\---

Sophie and Nathaniel stay for as long as it takes Alistair to be cured of the taint. He stays unconscious for five and a half days, and Ophelia only leaves his side to care for Elodie. The queen reads to him, plays with his hair, prays for quick healing, and soon her prayers are answered.

Alistair weeps openly when he wakes and doesn’t hear the Calling. He embraces his wife, kisses their baby, and then thanks Sophie and Nathaniel with everything he has.

He still sends them away from Denerim, away from the Inquisition and Adamant, back to Soldier’s Peak.

When Sophie opens her mouth to argue, Nathaniel just wraps his hand around her elbow and pulls until she lets him lead her away.

She’s been in hiding before.

She can do it again.

\---

A letter comes a few months later, in Alistair’s own handwriting.

_ S & N-- _

_ The Wardens have left Orlais and Ferelden. Hawke--yes, the Champion of Kirkwall, Maker knows why--lead them from Adamant to Weisshaupt Fortress. I haven’t heard anything else from them since. _

_ I don’t know how much news you’re getting in Soldier’s Peak (I assume none?) but the Inquisition is nearly ready to defeat Corypheus. At least we can hope. _

_ I know you’re not Wardens anymore, but Amaranthine is still yours. You’re the arlessa, and you can stay there until you decide you don’t want it. We can deal with the Wardens when they come back. _

_ Lia is doing great. Little El is smiling and laughing now, and I wish you could see her. I didn’t know I could be so happy. _

_ Write me from Amaranthine. _

_ A _

Sophie begins packing at once.

\---

Varel looks equal amounts relieved and annoyed when Sophie, Nathaniel, and Aoife walk into the Vigil together. Regardless of his actual feelings, he leaves his office to greet them in the courtyard. Sophie greets him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, but Nathaniel simply shakes his hand.

They send a messenger to Delilah in Amaranthine to tell her that they’re safe, and they’re  _ healthy  _ and they’re back, and Delilah shows up by herself the next day to yell at them both for disappearing.

\---

When the Breach reopens, Nathaniel walks right into Sophie’s office, grabs her hand, and tugs until she follows him out of the building. Every single person in Vigil’s Peak is standing in the courtyard staring up at the sky to the west, staring as the green eddy whirls in the sky over where Haven used to be.

Aoife arrives moments later, Ser Pounce winding his way between her paws as she sits at Sophie’s side. Nathaniel wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her body against his, and kisses her forehead. She allows herself to lean into him, even here in front of everyone, and she sighs.

“We should bring Delilah and Al and the kids here,” she says, but Nathaniel shakes his head.

“She won’t come.” Sophie nods. She didn’t come ten years ago, and she didn’t when the Breach opened, and she won’t now.

It’s true. Once more, all they can do is sit and wait and trust that the Inquisitor can handle this as she’s handled everything else.

\---

Nathaniel is jogging through the courtyard when he sees Sophie out of the corner of his eye. She’s in the stable, speaking with the groundskeeper, so he calls out as he slows down.

“Sophie, is something--did you cut your hair?” Nathaniel skids to a stop as he sees Sophie’s tight curls, previously around her shoulders, now cut tight against her scalp.

When she turns to look at him, his breath whooshes out of his lungs. The woman before him is most certainly not his wife, though they could practically be twins. This woman is older, closer to Nate’s own age, with hazel eyes instead of blue and a large burn scar across the left side of her face that extends down her neck and disappears under the collar of her jacket.

He snaps to his duty as the arlessa’s second, controlling his expression and making sure his voice is steady when he asks, “May I help you?”

The woman’s eyes flash as she studies him. “We’re looking for Sophie Amell.”

Nathaniel nods. “The arlessa typically requires an appointment, but--”

She shakes her head and cuts him off. “We’re not from the arling. She’s our sister.” The woman jerks her head at a man standing in the shadows deeper in the stable, and he walks forward until Nathaniel can see him. He’s tall and broad, with hair in short red waves instead of blond curls, but his eyes are the exact same piercing blue as Sophie’s. The Tranquil brand is on his forehead, and Nathaniel’s blood turns cold. “Can you take us to her?”

Nathaniel nods, still controlling his expression. “Of course. If you’ll both follow me?”

The woman nods and gestures for the man to follow them, and Nathaniel leads them through the Vigil up to Sophie’s office. He pushes through the door and walks in without waiting, and she frowns up at him before she sees the people behind him.

She stands slowly, resting her hands on the desk, as Nathaniel steps to her side to give their visitors room to stand in front of her.

The woman speaks first. “Sophie?”

Sophie swallows hard. “Yes?”

The woman takes a step closer. “I’m Elisa. This is Charlie. You’re our baby sister.”

Sophie’s eyes are wide when she looks up at Nathaniel. “My--I don’t remember having a sister.”

Elisa shakes her head. “You wouldn’t. You weren’t even born yet when I was taken to the Kirkwall Circle. You were still a baby when they took Charlie.”

“Kirkwall?” Sophie squeaks. “You were in Kirkwall?” Without intending to, her eyes flicker over Elisa’s scars. 

“Yes. I escaped when the Circle fell.” She touches her face and grins a little lopsided smile at Sophie. “I remembered Charlie and Liam, and I tried to find them. The Chantry does  _ not  _ want mages to find their siblings, and it  _ certainly  _ doesn’t want them knowing about their siblings who are heroes or run arlings.”

Sophie’s knees go weak and she sinks into her chair, and Nathaniel reaches for her without a hesitation. “I… I remember Liam,” she breathes. “He… is he here too?”

Elisa’s eyes meet Nathaniel’s and he know, he knows without hearing the words that Liam is gone before they could reunite.

“His Circle was annulled,” Elisa finally says, very quietly, and Sophie just nods.

“Oh.” She looks at Charlie, and her voice is even smaller. “What happened to you, Charlie?”

Charlie blinks at her, processing her question. When he speaks, his voice is the hollow, eerie voice common to all tranquil. “I requested to be made tranquil rather than face my Harrowing,” he says. “It is better this way.”

Elise clenches her jaw and she shakes her head, but she doesn’t correct him. He cannot be argued with, not anymore.

When the silence becomes too thick, Nathaniel takes a deep breath. “You’re both welcome to stay here,” he says. “You’re family.”

“Are we?” Elisa asks, voice sharp but not enough to be considered rude. 

Sophie nods as Nathaniel stands. “I’m Nathaniel Howe,” he says. “Sophie’s husband.”

“The Chantry doesn’t allow mages to marry,” Charlie comments, though he doesn’t sound upset. Of course.

“We didn’t ask the Chantry,” Nathaniel says, arching one dark brow.

The silence extends for a heartbeat.

Elise grins. “Nice to meet you, Nathaniel,” she says, and she reaches out toward him with her good hand.

He shakes it and smiles back.

\---

Nathaniel goes to bed long before Sophie, leaving her up talking to her sister. They exchange stories from what they remember of their parents, of their brothers, of their Circles growing up. It takes them late into the night before they finally agree to meet for breakfast, and then Sophie slides under the sheets next to her husband.

She cuddles right up against him, rousing him from sleep so that he can roll onto his side to wrap his arms around her.

“Did you have fun with your sister?” he asks, voice muffled both by sleep and by her hair. She nods and presses closer, nuzzling against his neck. He grunts a little and his fingers tighten against her skin when she begins to speak.

“Yes,” she says, and then she pauses to brush a kiss across his collarbone. “Thank you for bringing her to me.” She kisses him again, this time on his throat, and she smiles when she feels him shiver.

Nathaniel clears his throat, more awake now, and he tilts his chin up. “I just brought them in from the courtyard,” he says, but his voice catches when he feels her teeth against his skin.

“You’ve been my family for a long time now,” here another pause, another kiss. “I thought it might just always be us, and your sister’s family, but now I have siblings too.” Her hand slides up his bare side to tangle in Nathaniel’s hair, tilting his head back more so she can spread more kisses along his neck. “Our family is finally _growing_ , Nate. I couldn’t be happier.”

Distracted as he is by the way she’s still kissing and leaving little nibbling bites across his skin, he doesn’t realize she’s said anything more than a thank you until her hand leaves his hair to take his hand.  She moves it, not to her breast as she does so often, but to her stomach.

“Sophie?” Her name, a question that he can’t speak, passes his lips, and she laughs. It’s a light, airy sound, more joyful than any other he’s heard from her in a long time.

She moves her hand to cup his jaw, fingers rasping through the stubble on his cheeks, but his hand stays where she placed it. “It’s been three months. I think it’s really happening, Nate.”

He closes the distance between them to press his lips to hers, cutting off her joyful laughter. He rolls them, pinning her beneath him with his hips against hers. When he breaks away from her, he props up on one elbow so he can run his fingers through her hair. “Were you going to tell me?”

She shifts beneath him, getting more comfortable, and hooks one leg around his. “Of course. I just wanted to wait until I could be sure. Are you happy?”

He has to laugh at that question. “I’ve never been happier, Sophie. Thank you.”

When he kisses her this time, he prays that he can feel the love he’s felt for her since their first weeks in Amaranthine together, the love that’s only grown as they’ve fought side by side for survival and their country and for each other.

He _loves_ her. And he’s never been happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone lives happily ever after. Fight me.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, friend! Thanks for reading. Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://ma-suelvin.tumblr.com/).


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